Customers packed the plastic tables at the food hawker stalls, which were immersed in the aroma of frying oil. Men and women crowded every street vendor, picking through local produce and bargaining loudly. People who had just gotten off work filled the road. After five hours at the waste processing station, he also had misgivings about how he smelled. ![]() Today, however, he was apprehensive about meeting strangers without looking at least somewhat respectable. ![]() Working at the waste processing station meant there were few occasions that called for the outfit, save a wedding now and then for a friend’s son or daughter. Every time he wore it, he’d come home afterward, take off the shirt and pants, and fold them up neatly to put away. As he had no one to pester him about the domestic details, he had simply kept this outfit for years. Lao Dao was forty–eight, single, and long past the age when he still took care of his appearance. ![]() The shirt’s cuffs were frayed, so he rolled them up to his elbows. ![]() He was wearing a white shirt and a pair of brown pants-the only decent clothes he owned. At ten of five in the morning, Lao Dao crossed the busy pedestrian lane on his way to find Peng Li.Īfter the end of his shift at the waste processing station, Lao Dao had gone home, first to shower and then to change.
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |
AuthorWrite something about yourself. No need to be fancy, just an overview. ArchivesCategories |