Chapter 12 The bottle of skin in the vending machine

Inside the bottle is a bundle of skin. I hate vending machines like this the most.You press the juice button, and what comes out is soda; you choose cigarettes without filters, and what comes out is cold smoke that is as thin as if you have been wronged. These are all good, I have a friend who is in a hurry to buy a condom, and the result is prickly heat powder. "If you want to make a magic box so much, why don't you stand in the circus?" I pushed the vending machine. Here is the beach, the sun is very strong, I am very thirsty, I have no coins on my body, but what I hold in my hand is an empty bottle with nothing to drink, only a piece of skin.

Judging by the mood of God like this, the next thing should be the silkworm baby of the big moth Mothra swimming up from the sea and spinning silk at me. I picked a corner with fewer people on the beach and sat down. At a glance, they were all naked people trying to lie down in order to be exposed to the sun. Looking at such a scene in the sun above, what would you think in your heart? "It's not my fault." The sun would probably say this. I raised the glass bottle in my hand and took a look at the sun, and found that the skin in the bottle was covered with beautiful tattoo patterns.

"Huh? Is it a treasure map?" I shook the bottle vigorously, but heard no answer.I was afraid that the bottle was blocking the sound, so I uncorked the cork, took out the skin, and put it in the palm of my hand. Maybe I finally met the same kind, and I feel very comforted. After touching the palm of my hand, the skin that was originally rolled up, only hesitated for two seconds, and spread out bravely like a magic carpet from the Arabian Nights. This piece of skin is about ten centimeters square, soft and moist, full of sweet memories.The tattoo that I vaguely saw just now has a very ordinary pattern - half of a red heart is tattooed, and the other half, needless to say, is tattooed on another piece of skin.

Do you want me to find the other half for you? ! I recalled how this leather garment appeared—rolled up—in a glass bottle—appeared by the sea—and was taken out by those who picked it up. It's a very typical way of asking for help. I feel extremely sorry for my own carelessness, and hurriedly asked the skin for information. "Are you trapped on that small island?" "Do you know the latitude and longitude of the island?" "How long have you been trapped?" Skins had no answers to my questions. Apparently it was suffocated in the glass bottle for too long, coupled with countless days of floating in the sea and freezing in the vending machine, this piece of skin has lost the ability to speak.

Then, the only clue that can be known is the half tattooed red heart. What is the requirement?Or are you looking for the other half you lost touch with? Holding the eternally silent skin in my hand, I first looked at the vast sea, and then at the vast crowd by the sea, not knowing what to do. I can't help at all, and I feel that I am really useless. "It's not my fault." The sun slowly set. The people lying on the beach also sat up one after another, tore off large pieces of their sun-drenched skin, rolled them up, stuffed them into empty glass bottles after drinking, and threw them into the sea.

"Among so many bottles, there is always a piece of skin that will have the other half of the red heart pierced." I thought so, looking at the tattoo on my left arm.