No. 11 Bus

There are not so many coincidences, but it just happens to be you. Youth, in groups of three or four, in piles of five or six, a group of people form a group, use sweat to spell out the prototype of the future, and then scatter it to all parties with a few pieces of paper. Perhaps, we will always remember that familiar face under the shade of the trees in the midsummer of that year. Try your best to meet again. "The little fool back then has grown up, but you can't get rid of me, so... You have no choice but to be kidnapped and taken home by me!"