It was a night that would never go back.

When the two cases of old telegraph wine for dinner were bottomed out and the champagne was exhausted, someone finally turned off the so-called music, and the fainting blues, heavy metal, and electronic music around them all came to an abrupt end. The fireflies in the living room of the Carnival Club were turned on, and the interior was restored to its original appearance.

When it quieted down, the people in the room could finally move their blurred eyes outside, away from the closed and indulgent crowd performance.

A few people stumbled through the door, the slurred byebye echoing through the hallway as they said goodbye. There are a few people who are no longer known

It's a heartbreaking city.

The neighborhood outside the window was in tatters. At night, like a torn piece of brocade, the magic contained in it also disintegrates, scattered into traffic, neon, street lamps and flickering secrets in the night.

Miao drank too much when he was good. In fact, all of them were drunk. Tiredness overwhelms everything.

At this moment, a figure walked from the living room, the pace was steady, the rhythm was slow, and the rustling sound of jeans and walking shoes grinding against the floor was lengthened by the alcohol-filled air. He stopped in the CD section of the living room and crouched down to find a new record.

The clock flowed like leaking water, and in the end, he chose the record that was destined to be put on the Hivi player.

Molière's [Alain Radiant Love] sounded softly. After that, the strange music critic nestled into a sofa chair and gradually fell asleep.

Miao was on the other couch at the time, and the alcohol made her not want to move. But the quiet music made her surroundings seem to be two different worlds from a few minutes ago, and she felt as if she had gotten up and chased something out of this place. She wanted to walk over and lie down beside this man to take a good look. But she fell asleep anyway.

They didn't know that this night was the closest moment that the two leaves drifted in the fate of the boat could get closer. Who knows?

They lay on the bed, the spacious bedroom soaked in the warm sunset outside the floor-to-ceiling window. If there really is a time machine, the cabin should be designed in this way, and it seems that it makes no difference whether it is going back in time, flying by, or stagnating.

He rested his head on her long cloudy hair, as if he were being pulled by some force, and told her his past and stories.

The floor clock in the living room struck twice, and as the night fell, he realized that she was already asleep.

Many years later, whenever he heard someone mention her, he remembered that evening, which was almost eternal.