Portland in the early morning, a faint mist drifts above the Willamette River. By December, the weather had become cold, and the city, enshrouded in thin veils, quietly awaited the rise of the morning sun.
On the bridge over the Willamette River, before dawn arrived, the shapes of a tall and a shorter figure were already running through the hazy fog. Although the mist was not great for the respiratory system, it was certainly better than anesthetics and painkillers.
"Good morning, Gan, out for a run so early again!" a postal worker delivering papers and milk shouted from his vehicle upon seeing the runners' silhouettes; the runners were none other than Gan Guoyang and Steve Colter, whose tall figure was familiar to every postal worker on the streets of Portland.
Ever since being forced into drug rehabilitation by Gan Guoyang, Colter was dragged out for a morning run in Portland every day. Now he looked much more spirited.
