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chapter one

Once, I heard an old song called, but my memory was vague.

I only remember that the singer sang the same hoarse and vague lyrics in a hoarse and vague voice, which sounded like smoking.

"I blurred your face in my memory,

A body that is no longer remembered,

The bright red heart is still clear.

Are you there?

Dear people.

I saw a wound on that broken heart.

Tear, let me see everything inside.

Reality and fantasy—

Like a ripe and broken pomegranate,

On the pale cross—

Red dreams and white faces ... "

Cape of Southeast Asia in Milandia, Du Ming, 211year.

I opened my eyes, and at six o'clock in the afternoon, the red sun shone in and shone on the pomegranate with a split mouth on the table. The depressing wind blew the bottle on the table. Color projection, disgusting.

That worn-out tape recorder has long been unable to play any music, and its handwriting is blurred by the keys, covered with thick dust, like a vague memory of a long time ago.

I stubbed out my cigarette and swept the bottle. Jingle bottles collide, just like a group of idiots quarreling together. They fell in the corner, squeezing pomegranates with cracked mouths.

I stood up, picked up my coat and walked out of the house.

street ...