44 posts tagged with "absurdity"

Lin Mu finally managed to buy the ticket. Four hundred and eighty yuan. He checked the ticket information over and over, as if the seat number printed on it wasn't a number but a complex legal provision requiring careful study to grasp its full meaning, especially the tiny, almost illegible additional clauses. The ticketing website was like a spinning maze, leading him down "Sold Out" cul-de-sacs countless times before finally, in an unexpected corner, spitting out this strangely numbered ticket. He wasn't even sure if he really wanted to go, but the process of obtaining the ticket itself, like completing an arduous and meaningless task, brought a kind of weary satisfaction.

The midday sun was vicious, baking the asphalt until it seemed to steam. Old Wang, Wang Dexing, was carrying his chipped enamel mug, ambling his way home. He'd just finished a bowl of Douzhi'er with a couple of Jiaoquan'r at "Old Zhang's" at the mouth of the hutong. This Douzhi'er, ah, it's like life itself. Smells foul, but once you get used to it, miss a day and your whole body feels out of sorts. He smacked his lips, the taste – sour with a hint of sweet, sweet with a hint of rancid – still lingered at the back of his tongue. Satisfying!

When Wang Jianguo received the water bill, he initially thought it was a misprinted joke. On the off-white paper, in neat standard font, a string of numbers was clearly printed: 39,390 yuan. The payment deadline was next Wednesday. He read it three times, then checked his phone calendar again. Yes, it had only been eighteen days since they moved into this new home, into which they had poured half a lifetime's savings.

Spring in Beiping, the wind was still stiff, slapping against the face like a stepmother's hand. But somehow, the streets exuded a certain bright energy. Take the newly opened "Butter & Bread" on the corner, for instance. Its glass was polished so bright, like newly fired porcelain teeth, gleaming almost blindingly white. Old Li stopped right there, at the shop's entrance.

Old Wang, the third-generation owner of Wang's Fresh Tripe, had spent his entire life dealing with beef offal. He prided himself on having seen more of the world than the varieties of tripe simmered in hotpot. His shop was tucked away deep in the city's alleys, the neon lights barely managing to dampen his faded sign. The shop wasn't large, and the air perpetually carried an honest, coarse smell – a mix of spices and raw freshness. Regulars knew Wang's tripe: dipped briefly, it came out perfectly crisp and tender.

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.

Mr. K received a letter. The envelope was stamped with an unfamiliar seal, the specific department unclear, only a vague impression of the word "Declaration" showing through. The content of the letter was simple: it requested that he fill out a declaration form and submit it within seven days.

Mr. K was puzzled. He couldn't remember needing to declare anything. But he followed the instructions anyway, and took the form from the envelope. The form was long, densely packed with various items, each item subdivided into countless smaller sub-items, and the sub-items further branching out, like an inverted tree with endlessly extending branches.

Li Ersao has been a little annoyed lately.

This world, it's getting harder and harder to understand.

The sky was just beginning to lighten. Grey light squeezed through the pathetically small window, casting a slanting glow on the corner of the wall. The paint was peeling badly, resembling the wrinkled faces of old people, silently telling the ruthlessness of time. This room, rather than a home, was more like a pigeonhole, so cramped it made one's heart race.