Chapter 14 fourteen

14 Now it was time to submit the manuscript, and my colleagues walked up to me one by one.I said: put it down, I'll watch it right away.Thank you.Meanwhile, I did not lift my head, and put my feet under the chair—I would neither shoot him nor let him step on my feet.That said, I was in a bad mood.He put down the manuscript, and quietly walked out the door, like laying flowers before the head of a dead man.This is how I understand it: right when my funeral was held early.I said the same when the last person came up to me.She refused to put down the manuscript for a long time, and I also refused to look up at her for a long time.Later, she still put down the manuscript.But she refused to go out and go for a walk in the roof garden like everyone else. Instead, she went behind the table, squatted down, lifted one of my feet out with both hands, put it on the ground, then stood up and stood on it. Step on it fiercely.This person is "brown."I slowly raised my head to look at her, and found that her eyes seemed to have conjunctivitis.I was insomnia that night, and she was crying bitterly that night.Although she is now standing on one foot on my toes, I don't feel any more pain in my feet than in my head - although the pain in the toes makes the headache a lot less.This kind of behavior is similar to a bad child acting like a baby, but I don't blame her.Seeing that I was indifferent, she bent down and said into my ear: I saw that thing of yours—it’s so ugly!She wants to humiliate me.But I was still indifferent, shrugged my shoulders and said: ugly is ugly.Just don't look at it...

In my novel, I encountered a riddle: the world is silver.I answered the answer: you are talking about after the heat death.Now I've got another riddle: the "brown" female co-worker is going to write real fiction.I should answer the riddle: what you are going to write is... if only I knew the answer.Maybe you are not like me, you have to know the answer to any riddle you encounter.But you are not like me, you have been a gifted child since childhood.According to Greek mythology, people in the Silver Age were favored by God, and they would not grow old or be trapped by livelihood throughout their lives.They have no pain, no anxiety, and look and feel like children to the end.After death, their ghosts still roam the world.I don't think they need to answer the question: what is a real novel.As you know, I've always been a Silver Age guy.But since the scare in the parking lot, I've grown a big dick.With something this ugly as hell, I'm starting to look less like a Silver Age person...

At noon, all the people went to the roof garden to get some fresh air, but the "brown ones" did not.Taking advantage of no one, she happened to "appeal" to me—I don't know what the word means, but I think it's funny.She wept mournfully in front of me, and said, "Big brother, I want to write a novel...Big tears rolled down her face, and rolled down to her chin, where it was like a melting icicle. Water dripped down continuously.I stared at her in a daze, searched around for a while, found a paper napkin (I don't know where I copied it from), and handed it to her.She wiped the paper over her face, and soon the paper napkin was reduced to balls of shredded paper.Walking on the grass in long trousers, the trousers will get burdock, and her face is similar to the trousers.I sighed, opened the drawer, took out a new towel, and said to her: Don't cry, just wipe her face.After wiping, there were tears and snot on the towel, so I'm afraid I can't take it.Brown was choking and choking, his face was flushed, and his forehead was covered with veins.I thought a little unpleasantly: I will always have a new towel in the drawer in the future, and this expense cannot be reimbursed——and then thought: I have to be responsible to others, so I can't be so stingy.Then, I said to the brown: well, don't cry - get back to work.She said in a crying voice: "Big brother, I can't do it anymore-if I continue, I will cry again."I quickly stopped her: take a break if you can't do anything.She said sitting was annoying.I said, when you are upset, you can hit the sweater and do exercises.She was stunned for a while and said: There are no sweater needles.I said: I'll buy it for you later—this is another expense that cannot be reimbursed.I opened the cabinet next to the desk, took out an old problem-book, and handed it to her; told her not to write on it--it's not that I'm mean, such books are hard to come by these days.

In the past, when I was doing exercises, I always sat upright, turned on the desk lamp at the desk, put the exercise book on the upper left corner of the table, sharpened a dozen pencils carefully, put the sawdust and lead shavings in the upper right corner of the table, and then Wrap each pen with adhesive tape (no matter what brand of pencil, it is always too thin for me), let it sit for a while, and then start to solve the problem.At first, my writing was the size of a mosquito, then the size of an ant, then the size of a flea, and after that, I couldn't see it myself.All problems sink into the microcosm.I put down the pen, propped my chin with my hand, and sank into deep thought. "Brown" is different from me. She is leaning on the desk, her neck is straight, her eyes are squinting angrily at the exercise paper, her face is flushed, she is pressing the paper with her right hand, and her left hand is pinching it desperately. A pencil (she is left-handed), poking furiously at the paper--looking from the side, it looks like a murderess killing--soon, she smashed some pencils, cut some paper, and put The desk desktop is completely badly written.At the same time, she was also chanting the process of calculation aloud, such as alpha and beta, the sound shook the room.The timid people dare not stay in the house at all.Anyway, I got her under control.Exercises don't do much for me now, and I've done all the worthwhile exercises in the world.But I graduated from the Department of Physics, and I have a good foundation in mathematics and science. "Brown" is in the liberal arts—the existing exercises are enough for her to do for a lifetime.

When I was in college, I squeezed my body into the narrow space between the desk and the bed and sat down in the dormitory, staring at a small table and a thick pile of exercise sets in a daze.I have a pencil in my hand, but I seldom write on paper, I just crush it joint by joint.Before you know it, the teacher will arrive.She seemed to have just come back from the bathroom, shaking her wet hair, handed me a card with the title copied on it, and said: Try this—you won't.I took it over slowly, but didn't look at it.There is no math problem in this world that I can't solve - it's a matter of fate.There was one more thing that seemed destined, too: I was going to die of depression.Before I knew it, the teacher climbed to the top of the opposite bunk bed and hung his feet in front of me.She kept kicking my forehead with her toes, urging: What are you in a daze for?Hurry up and do the questions!I finally sighed, turned the card over, wrote the answer on the back with a pen, and inserted it between the teacher's toes—she picked up the card again and studied what I wrote, while I Study the feet: they are turned inward like a baby's.My sense of smell went up between her legs and into the leather skirt, where I caught a whiff of oleander.Because of this smell, I have the teacher's white and petite body, which is tightly wrapped in leather... She jumped off the bed, squatted in front of me, hugged my head and said: Big fool, you It's a genius - don't be dazed!I suddenly felt that everything happened between me and the teacher-I didn't make up anything.

I faced the window and saw a few pothos growing outside the glass.This plant always grows in pots around brown-covered posts, and I didn't know it could grow underground in corners, climbing its vines over glass.Get closer and see it more clearly: there are suckers on the vines of the pothos, just like the tentacles of an octopus. These suckers suck the glass, and the vines grow on the glass. Traces, look a little gross.Then it opens its leaves.These leaves are the size of sunflower leaves, green and fat, covering the office in the shade.Science and technology are advancing by leaps and bounds. Some people have implanted snail genes into pothos and created this new species—this is something that people like me who sit in the office and make up things can't know.

What I know is that sitting under these green plants is like sitting under a trellis.This kind of wisteria frame can spread for thousands of miles, and people can never get out of the wisteria frame all their lives. In this way, they will live in a green corridor all their lives, which is a kind of happiness.This is not impossible: as long as human genes are implanted into an ant, he (or she) will feel that he is a human, but in fact he is just an ant; from then on, he (or she) can get this kind of happiness in a bonsai, and the world will become better because of it. More and more novelty. …I look back at the “brown” and it looks even browner under the shade of greenery.She babbled and tangled with some trigonometric identities.This is homework for the second grade of junior high school, and she is already thirty-five years old.I couldn't help laughing: I used to think that I only had some literary talents, but now I realize that I am also a good hand when it comes to putting people down.I really don't know how smart I am - and I'm still in a daze.I just went home in a daze and went to sleep—I just couldn't hold on without sleep.