The other party was a bit drunk and became increasingly muddled with the accounts, so they simply turned off the computer, tossed the calculator aside, and gave up.
She was a straightforward person. The landlady filled her pipe with tobacco, her hand holding the stem, her fingernails painted a beautiful red lacquer.
She was truly drunk; her elbow accidentally brushed against the wine glass, knocking it over and shattering it on the floor. The noise woke the sleeping owner in the back room, who got dressed and hurried out.
"You're drinking again?"
While cleaning up the broken glass and taking out the trash, he patiently admonished her not to overdo it.
The landlady didn't respond. She wrapped herself tightly in her Tibetan brocade scarf and leaned against the window sill to watch the snow. It was snowing heavily.
Her gaze was not on the man braving the snow to clean up the glass, but on the darkness and the white snow.
