The small courtyard, which was quiet and peaceful in the afternoon, was now brightly lit. People came hurriedly from time to time, everyone had sadness on their face, and the atmosphere was a little depressing.
Lucas Shen parked the car at the entrance of the alley, turned off the engine, turned off the headlights, opened the window, then closed his eyes, leaned back in a chair and smoked one cigarette after another. He could clearly hear someone crying.
Huang Guoli was also smoking in the back: "How can people be so fragile? It's only been more than two months since the diagnosis."
Thick smoke crawled out of Lucas Shen's mouth. He slowly opened his eyes and looked at the smoke drifting in front of him like a dream.
"It's easy to be born, but hard to live. No one knows which will come first, an accident or tomorrow."
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