"At that time, I made my stance clear—we workers need to think about the country. If I don't get laid off, who will?"
Smack~
Liang flipped off the television and stood in front of it, silent. After a while, he ambled back to his chair with his hands clasped behind him.
He quietly lit a cigarette, the fingernails pressing on the filter turned yellow.
On New Year's Eve, every household was making dumplings and watching the Spring Festival Gala. They set off firecrackers with a bang.
The old couple were no exception. Liang's wife wasn't well and had gone to bed early.
The night was cool, and Liang's legs ached so much that he couldn't sleep, so he got up. He pretended to sleep with his eyes closed, his ruddy face tense, the grooves looking tight, and if one looked closely, they would see cinders in his hair.
Dogs barked in the alley, and the sound of knocking at the door was muffled.
