After cleaning up the trash, Bologue greeted Wei'Er and then pushed the door open to leave.
At midnight, the street was silent, with only the lonely streetlights flickering by the roadside. The fresh air flowed gently from the still-blowing wind, brushing softly against the skin, waking Bologue up a bit. Yet, the scene before him seemed desolate and forlorn.
The trash bags swept across with the wind, as if the street had just ended a wild revelry, leaving countless cigarette butts and bottle caps behind. The air was filled with an intoxicating scent of alcohol, which was particularly pungent at this moment.
The clubs on the street gradually pulled down their curtains, and the music slowly faded away. Bologue's expression was somewhat dazed, as if eroded by the revelry, a sense of desolation surged from deep within, exposing the decay and solitude in the silent night.
