My parents opened a butcher shop, and all the customers who tasted our pork raved about it. But I have never seen my parents purchase goods. I just feel that my parents' faces have become more and more ugly over the years. I asked my father: "Why don't you buy more food? There are so many customers who want to eat our meat but they can't eat it." But he just said impatiently: "What do you know? Do you know that the water is flowing slowly?" Until one day, I returned to the butcher shop in the middle of the night to get something, and I heard a hoarse roar from the kitchen preparation room: I'm hungry. From then on, I learned that what my parents sold was not pork at all.
