Su Ran, Be Good and Come Sit Here

The woman came walking from beneath the plane trees in click-click-clicking stilettos. She wore a floral sundress cinched tight at the waist, its hem swaying with every step like willow branches in the breeze. Old Zhou held his enamel mug, mouth hanging open. Hot water dribbled from the corner of his mouth and onto his crotch. The scald made him hiss. His hand jerked, and half the mugful spilled down his trouser leg.