Jesse Yun and Zachary Zhao had an appointment at six o’clock in the evening at the Sith Café. He saw that it was still early, so he went home with a suitcase and took a shower. After arriving at the coffee shop, he saw Zachary Zhao sitting in the distance. There.
Lao Zhao loves black. Whether it’s leather shoes, suits, or even matching shirts, they are all black. He sat at a distance with his face open. After drinking a sip of coffee, he curled his mouth like a bit of disgust, like that. The black impermanence in the palace of Hades.
Jesse Yun was amused by his own metaphor, copied his pockets and walked over, lowered his head and asked: “Sir, isn’t our coffee here not good?”
“It’s really not that good, not as good as the instant Nestlé.”
Zachary Zhao still didn’t change his venomous tongue. Just when he raised his head and wanted to say something, he saw Jesse Yun standing and looking at him with a smile, his face became darker immediately, and he was about to knock his head when he raised his hand.
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