This Shore

In June in Suicheng, the nights are not much cooler than the days. The bluestone roads in the old city have been exposed to the sun all day, and you can feel the residual warmth coming through the soles of your shoes when you step on them. In an old abandoned park, the fountain was dry, the benches were graffitied, and the plane trees were half eaten by insects. A teenager stood by the railing, his T-shirt soaked with sweat and sticking to his skin. He has been standing here for a long time, so long that the promotion broadcast from the convenience store in the distance has changed several times. He didn't want to jump off the building, he just didn't know where to go. A woman with a high ponytail came from the stairs. Holding a popsicle in her hand, she walked up to him and shoved a popsicle into his mouth—not into his hand. Then she stood beside him, imitating his example and hanging her arms on the railing. "You're in a bad mood," she said. Not a question. Later he left with her. Not because he believed her, but because she was the first person who didn't look at him with pity. She just stood next to him, eating her own popsicle, looking at the extinguished neon lights in the distance, and said, "The stomach holds a grudge more than the heart." He ate the popsicle. Strawberry flavored, too sweet. But he didn't stop.