I stopped by a public trash can, lit a cigarette, and took two deep puffs. Don't be surprised, smoking is one of the essential pretense skills for decadent literary young women. Suddenly a little nervous. "Shen Zhe." I was prepared to yell three times before he stopped, but I didn't expect him to stop immediately. There is really no tacit understanding. He stopped where he was and looked at me, not coming over, just looking at me. Okay, you drag your uncle. If the mountain can't be reached, I will go over it. I walked up to him and stood an arm's length away from him. I turned my head and took a puff of cigarette, then slowly exhaled: "Are you in love, with me?" I heard my own voice ringing in my ears, like this smoke, real but rootless.
Concept: A girl's worries