There are only three pieces of five in the pocket. Pen, fun, and www.biquge.info

In this era when prices have not been too inflated, this is a very normal thing for the children of ordinary people. Even, some don't even have three pieces of five.

Zheng Mao rubbed his sore buttocks, not feeling shy.

I can't talk about how embarrassing it is. What he has now may be an attitude to life. No money is nothing. Not a penny, it's hard for him, a good man dressed in Zhengtai's skin.

A pack of two five-dollar cigarettes, and a plastic lighter, just right.

Under the neon lights, Zheng Mao was messy in the wind.

There is a warm yellow light and a warm wind on the side of the street. Although the night was slightly steaming, it was not very stuffy, but Zheng Mao's heart was very depressed. It's only a few minutes of walking, and you're going to be home.

But he hesitated.

"I'm a little afraid to go back," Zheng Mao whispered as he lit the lighter, and the light of the fire was reflected in his eyes, jumping and jumping.

I have dreamed like this many times before, the world is starting again, and everything is going back.

He is a big man in his dreams, and his life is complete. But when I woke up from the dream, I was still such a depressed young man who was unwilling.

He was dizzy in his mind, and now everything was like a mirror, and he was afraid that after pushing open the door, he would suddenly be woken up.

It's sad, isn't it?

The cigarette butt was slowly lit, and out of habit, Zheng Mao did not inhale the first puff into his lungs. I was very familiar with a cigarette and looked up at the figures coming and going on the platform opposite.

As an old smoker, in the next moment, he was choked by the smoke and coughed repeatedly, and his throat was a little dry and painful.

Zheng Mao realized that he was still a very immature body, and he had never touched a cigarette, so he was very sensitive to it.

Smoking is not good, every smoker will know this principle, but he still can't stop.

In fact, the physical addiction to smoking is not terrible, and if you want to quit smoking, you can resist a little and it will pass. The most terrible thing is the habit of not leaving the cigarette. Since there is no addiction to smoking, if he is really reborn, Zheng Mao still has to cherish the present.

Didn't inhale it into the lungs, the smoke swirled between the lips and teeth, swallowing the clouds and spitting out the fog, happy like a fairy.

For him now, the strange gazes of those uncles and aunts make him very satisfied.

His appearance as a child, in the eyes of others, must feel that he is mature beyond his age, right?

At present, Bac Giang City has not yet declared a civilized city, so it is still uncivilized for the time being. Several white plastic bags were rolled up and danced in mid-air. Some disappeared into the torrent of traffic, and I don't know which hapless driver's window they pasted on; Some were swept away on street corners by the night wind; There is also a unique one that covers the back of Zheng Mao's head directly.

Tearing it off with his backhand and throwing it in the full garbage bin with the extinguished cigarette butts, Zheng Mao decided to embark on the way home.

Not far away, only the third floor, which can make Zheng Mao exhausted.

The key was tied with a nylon rope around the waistband of his pants, and Zheng Mao trembled and twisted the round head of the key, and in a tremble, he put the tip towards the keyhole.

At this time, his throat was like a crawler, and there was a howling sound, and section by section of air was pumped into his stomach, and he was so nervous that he couldn't help himself.

Finally, there was a click, and the door was slowly pushed open by Zheng Mao, who was like a boulder in his chest.

It's dark.

The orange and yellow lights in the hallway poured in through the open door, reflecting the inseparable shoes in the hallway.

It looks like there's no one at home.

So, Zheng Mao smiled and was relieved.

Only then did he realize that his mother was still a conductor on the train, working for more than half a month and taking more than ten days off. Now it is estimated that he is still being carried by the train, and he is working from Bac Giang City regardless of distance.

And that dead ghost father, who hasn't left them yet, should have the dream of being a great writer, and I don't know where to go.

It's good, it's going to take some time to face what we're doing now.

The furnishings of the house are all warm in memory, and in the large fish tank embedded in the wall, more than a dozen red carp swim freely.

Looking at them, Zheng Mao felt very kind and surging.

couldn't help but fish one out, and after being slapped in the face a few times by the powerful fishtail, Zheng Mao kissed him heavily-

I still have to eat dinner, so I hastily put down a bowl of noodles, covered with eggs, and sprinkled with a small handful of chopped green onions. Zheng Mao was very touched by the food.

It's the taste of home.

It was also the time to grow his body, and Zheng Mao soon felt sleepy. In his previous life, he stayed up all night day and night, and now as a good student, his biological clock is still quite normal.

Following.

The electronic calendar quickly turned to Sunday, June 12, 2002.

At half past twelve at noon, Zheng Mao woke up from a daze, pushed away the air-conditioning futon with the fragrance of flower water, and turned the electric fan up one gear.

Looking at the hands of the alarm clock on the table, Zheng Mao lay on the bed and stretched a big lazy waist.

That's fifteen hours of sleep...... Young man.

Touching the buttocks with the backhand, in the end, the body is still growing, and the position where it fell is now no longer painful.

It's a very ordinary life, without the thrill of being reborn in his old dreams. Fold the quilt, brush your teeth and wash your face, then make a bowl of noodles, and finally touch your round belly in a daze.

Ten minutes passed.

An hour passed.

Another hour and a half passed.

What should I do?

Continue to go to school and study honestly, or rely on his prophetic amount of information to do something unbelievable?

However, he only has half a pack of cigarettes in his pocket now, and he is still a young boy in the first year of junior high school.

It's just 1.5 meters tall.

Instead of imagining about the future, it is better to do the present first.

Suddenly, Zheng Mao thought that at this age, he seemed to have the habit of writing a diary, and suddenly became interested.

A lot of things from his childhood were vague, and he wanted to know what was written on them. rummaging through it, according to memory, sure enough, under the mattress interlayer, I found a black crustland.

Sitting on the bed, Zheng Mao lit a cigarette and slowly flipped through it.

The handwriting is decent, slightly sloppy, and loosely structured, not ugly, nor good. Very usual.

It's all about the little things, as well as the trivial troubles of adolescence. may be in the eyes of Zheng Mao's twenty-five or six-year-old soul, it is not worth mentioning, and the style of writing is not the second secondary that he expected. After all, at this time, Riman was prevalent, such as Naruto's various postures and spoken language, which have always been imitated by little children.

Seeing the back again, the sentence on the back of the paper, 'I don't want to be the second in 10,000 years, I am destined to be the first man in the class', and there are three huge exclamation marks behind it, Zheng Mao smiled heartily.

Before he had a car accident, he had always been a good student, with top grades, but he often hung second. Don't let the stinky fart boy who dominates the class provoke.

After all, under the discipline of his tiger mother at home, he is as docile as a cat like his father.

"It's hard to be the second child in the future." Zheng Mao sighed and shook his head.

When Zheng Mao was immersed in the lake of the past, the doorbell rang suddenly.