I declined Mr. Jiang's dinner invitation, and I walked aimlessly on the street alone.

At 5 p.m., the street is covered with an exciting blue filter, and the street lamps lit up in an instant, and the warm lobby lit by the tea shops, bars, and western restaurants on the street exudes the allure of relaxation as if sprinkled with maple syrup. The old Japanese tram in the middle of the road slowly passed by, the engine roared heavily, and the sound of the rails colliding with Yue was a real announcement that the world was truly safe and sound.

As the weather warmed up, I was sweating a little in a medium green wool sweater, and the evening breeze was blowing just right, accompanied by a mild botanical aroma, which was very pleasant.

At this moment, I can't think of anyone to share it with, and I am also afraid of disturbing the tranquility of others. So I sat quietly in the flower beds of the street, watching the relaxed crowd coming and going, and fell into my own peace.

When it gets dark, go to the convenience store and quickly buy it, bag a dozen draft beer, a bottle of vodka, a can of sardines and a pack of shrimp chips, and leave for home.

I have ready-made tiger skin shrimp at home, so I decided to stew them with lemongrass, red peppers, tomato paste, fish sauce, soy sauce and sesame oil with coconut milk to make Thai red curry shrimp, eat it with rice, and fry the shrimp chips to accompany the meal. Mix orange juice with vodka and drink on rocks, canned sardines and diced tomatoes with olive oil and orange vinegar to make a salad.

Watch John Lennon's biographical film "Imagine" while eating.

I was probably seeing the Beatles performing on the rooftop of 3 Savile Row when the door was suddenly opened with a key.

My wife didn't look at me when she entered the house, but went straight to the bathroom, stayed there for a full twenty minutes, then flushed her hands, turned into the bedroom and closed the door, and then went silent.

Just three minutes after what seemed to be the moment my wife was sucked into a black hole with everything in the bedroom, she walked out of the bedroom with an extra black handbag that she used to go to the gym, which was stuffed to the brim.

Put on shoes, take a bag, close the door, leave, and don't say a word. The house was de-combat-ready.

Later, I carefully checked it repeatedly, and the bedroom was like another parallel universe, showing a look that had never been touched before - there was not a single piece of clothing, the position and folds of the stacks had not even changed, and I even clearly remembered that my wife's black handbag for fitness had never been put into the bedroom, which was really incredible.

However, my wife did come, and there was still the smell of her usual perfume in the air, the obvious water stains on the bathroom washstand, and the slippers were lying quietly against the door in a posture that had just been stepped on.

I didn't know what my wife's purpose was for coming home, and I didn't know what she had taken with her something that seemed to be something she would never come back to.

After brushing my teeth and going to bed, I don't know when there was an unread message lying on my phone.

Blackie replied to me.

He said, Boss, I'm sorry, I've been busy lately and I'll be working overtime all the time.

I miss the time I spent working with Xiao Hei and Ruby Lin, and at that time, my wife and I were still good comrades-in-arms who talked about everything.

Before going to bed, I read a few pages of "The English Patient" that I had flipped through in the morning, and I read about the part where I heard that the German soldiers would hide mines in the piano, and gradually fell asleep.

Halu appeared in my dreams, in a green garden, dappled with light and shadow falling on her face, she was holding a paintbrush and drawing something on the oilcloth, her brow furrowed slightly. I wanted to see what she had painted, and I wanted to remind her of the details in her work, and when I got closer, Halu was long gone, and Jiang was standing there.

I've been waiting for Mr. Jiang to ask me why there is such a ridiculous question in this painting.