Thinking of this, he saw a familiar piece of paper in the corner of his eye. Hu ao knelt down to pick up the flyer, but at that moment a shiny shoe stepped on it, and Hu ao could faintly see his own reflection in it.
Hu ao slowly raised his head. It was a man, impeccably dressed, with a silver cross hanging around his neck and a golden watch chain peeking out from his chest, his hand clutching a bunch of crumpled flyers.
The man looked at Hu ao, and for some reason, Hu ao felt a sting from his gaze.
The man didn't say much, just laughed with an unfathomable expression, moved his foot aside, and walked to a nearby trash can, throwing the flyers in.
During the whole process, neither of them spoke a word. There was no exchange between Hu ao and the man, but somehow, Hu ao felt an indistinct ache.
He picked up the flyer, wandering desolately to a corner of the street.
