Maybe I shouldn't be so sensitive.

At 8:30 in the morning, I ate breakfast at the roadside restaurant, with a tart and a tart. The first sun came in through the window and on the face of the little girl, it was clear to see soft and soft wool on her delicate skin.

The little girl sat in front of me on the left, facing me across the table. She looks very good, with big, bright eyes, small noses, small lips, red lips and soft lips. I looked into her eyes, and I was happy, because her eyes were filled with joy without fear, flashing like a rain-washed star.

Her eyebrows are special, thick and dark, like an elastic willow. It seems that she has never fixed her eyebrow, that she has not learned, that she does not know what it means to pull her eyebrow in detail, and that she does not have the touch of the smoked devil, because she is young.

She's not even 20 years old. She's got a clean face and a bright red face. Not only are the eyebrows not fixed, but only a ponytail. There's some old white coats on them, black bullet-breed pants, old shoes, older than clothes. She's not a student, she's a student, she's a student, she's a student. She looks like a worker, a small processing plant, or someone in the nearby wholesale market looking after the camera. She has a little social experience, but very superficial.

She must have arrived in Beijing soon after she left her home, from a distant or near home, just like the healthy and natural young people we see everywhere in the street.

The little girl has finished her breakfast, but is not in a hurry to leave. She's been laughing, softly, hardly sound. And her teeth were pure and white, and they appeared as pearls on her lips. She's not talking. It's very small. I can't hear you. I doubt sitting. The man across from her couldn't hear either. Because he seems a little distracted personally.

That man! He's a bad man!

He was wearing a cheap, cheesy-like little Frog suit, the color of nightly tea mixed with chicken shit, making him look like a maggots. His. There were black pants on the leg, and the pen was strong, but the bends were full of tarts. There was a white sock around the neck, white like a brand-new sanitary towel. Under the sanitary towel are black shoes, dark and bright, with huge angles. It appears to be the kind of leather shoes that are particularly popular in the vast urban-rural complex known as rocketheads.

Faced with that simple and beautiful girl, he was shaking around his legs, shaking, with his shoulder bending to the left and to the left. He's got his hands on his ass, his head on his ass, and he's got his fat back!

I can guess his face immediately. He must have a donkey face, long eyes, never open, so he won't be easily seen. He must have shaved, but must have wrinkles and even lots of holes. He'll trim his nose hair once in a while, but there must be a broken tooth. He turned around and looked at me.

I didn't want to eat any more immediately. I think I'm too tolerant, I should have been prepared, but I didn't know his face was so full of challenges to creation!

A few days later, I'd rather see a real dog than admit that I saw a person.

The little girl used to gaze at me when she was talking to him. Because she had to pretend that she didn't really care about him that much, she had to look at something. And in her sight, there is nothing but her man and me. But the son-of-a-bitch was suspicious and turned his back on me, and he looked away.

I looked at him cold and he turned his head around again.

But soon he turned around again, and this time he looked fiercely.

And I looked away, and he turned his head again.

Son of a bitch! Mother's next door! I swear in my heart! The more scolding, the sadder. She's such a nice girl. She's clean and beautiful. She can't even dress herself. At the age of a teenager, running in a strange city with a soft and small dream, I wonder what good will happen tomorrow. Such is the likeness of the earth, to you and to you, the scum of you, the beast, the pig, the archer!

You must be full of bad water, so you're good at reading. You must be humbled and lazy, so used to lecturing. You must have no talent and have a poor family, so you dared to turn yourself into such a depravity. You must be so greedy and so happy that you'll be out of your mind the first night of the day and have breakfast because you're hungry, and you'll be putting on a drink table: oil bars, oil cakes, buns, soybeans, soybeans, fried livers!

Fuck!

The man turned to me again, and his eyes were shaky and confused. And I looked out of my eyes, and I looked out of my sight, and I looked out of my eyes, and I looked out, and I took the girl's face, and I sprayed her nose and nose, and I broke her teeth.

He got up and left soon. Call the waiter to pay the bill. She drew a ticket and found the dirtiest one. The little girl stood up with him, watched him pay, and had some blush.

The sun was great, so all this was clear to me. The symbols, the expressions that imply those features, are helping me to return to an obscene story: the man is leaving, and the little girl is crying alone in the night. This story happens every day and the man will continue to do so before he is punished. It's boring and common, and even virgins can paint many of these novels. They simply do not know how bad the so-called bad are, and they simply do not know what changes they will experience when they are no longer virgins.

They begin to learn to trim their eyebrows without exception.

The little girl, the little girl with the soft hair on her face, was probably a virgin 24 hours ago. She lost her tears at night in return for her self-righteous happiness. And now she's laughing, and the lightness and brightness in her eyes make the sun out of her window dark.

The more beautiful she smiles now, the more sad she will cry.

In the summer night, I could always hear crying outside in my room on the street, and young working girls were drunk, noisy, scolding, beating and crying in the diner. A youth, a world. And one day I heard a young man scolding a woman, "You slut!" And she cried. I want to throw bottles down, and I want to scare them.

It's not about virgins, it's about bad men who care.