"Perhaps when the past becomes the past, a person can survive by relying on memory." Lei Xiang thought this way.
It was a gray morning, overcast and misty, an early November morning. In my memory, others said that winter in the north was always dry and cold, but when Lei Xiang came to this city, he discovered that this was not the case. This city in the center of the country's mainland was not as difficult to adapt to as imagined. Sometimes the rain would even roll down with smoke, giving it a hint of childhood scenes.
"But fortunately it hasn't rained today." Lei Xiang was sitting on the bus, wearing headphones, listening to music and looking at the street scene, and somehow he thought of the past.
Maybe it's because those high-rise buildings have changed from imagination to something close in front of us. What we looked forward to in the past are now sparse and common; what was not worth mentioning in the past now seems to be used to draw happiness.
The song in his ears floated gently intermittently. Lei Xiang closed his eyes and wanted to take a nap.
Concept: The story of the growth of a minority of the generation in the late 1990s