这年头，谣言比麻雀还飞得快，人心比墙皮还容易剥落。

In Tokyo during the rainy season, the air is like a wet towel that can't be wrung out, stickily wrapping everyone. I sit alone in a corner of the jazz bar "Dig," sipping whiskey on the rocks. Under the dim light, Charlie Parker's saxophone is mournful, as if it's trying to suck all the air out of your lungs.

These days, even eating a meal can lead to philosophical reflection.

On a gloomy afternoon in April, I sat on a park bench, watching fallen leaves swirl in the wind. It was the 73rd day of my unemployment. I'd lost track of how many resumes I'd sent out, just like I'd lost track of how many pigeons were in the park.

Some strange things had been happening in this city lately. Manhole covers were starting to disappear inexplicably. The news said the police had launched an investigation, but so far, no clues had been found. The disappearance of the manhole covers seemed like some kind of metaphor, a sign that the city was collapsing, and I, too, was sinking along with it.

These days, even sleep has become a luxury.

老李头，原先是养蜂的。他那点儿蜜，甜得齁嗓子，带着股子山野的清香。可如今，老李头不养蜂了，改在郑州东站卖蜜。倒不是他不想养，是那蜂儿，都快绝了种。没了蜜蜂，他这手艺，也就成了空壳。

Ah Q has been feeling a bit hot lately. Perhaps it's because the weather is warming up, and it's time to drink iced water again. As usual, he strolled into that "Mixue Ice Cream & Tea" shop. The Snow King at the door was still smiling, but that smile, in Ah Q's eyes, seemed to have a bit more strangeness.

"A cup of lemonade," Ah Q said, his voice a little hoarse.

Lao Li has been feeling very uneasy lately.

My name is Wang Er, but I don't acknowledge that I am Wang Er, even though my household registration booklet, ID card, graduation certificate, and various documents issued by my workplace all clearly state these two characters. I believe I'm someone, someone with wisdom, with thoughts, someone waiting to be swept up by the torrent of history to the pinnacle of life. Of course, this peak is not Mount Everest, but something more metaphysical, such as the peak of wisdom.

Old Li had been looking at the starry sky above his head for nine months. To be precise, he had been floating and looking at it for nine months. This was no romantic affair, it was like being locked in solitary confinement with only a toilet and compressed biscuits. The only difference was that outside this confinement was a vacuum, and some coldly gleaming stars.

The whole thing was just damn frustrating. Old Li, a seasoned astronaut, was supposed to return to Earth three months ago, hug his grandson he'd never met, drink a little wine, and brag about how the farts he released in space changed the course of human history. But now, he could only listen to those bureaucrats on Earth bickering through a dilapidated communicator.