Chapter 3 2. Red Sweater & Old Left [2]

2 My ex-wife was a student who was transferred to the city government as a secretary when she was 30 years old. She divorced me and became the wife of the mayor.She told me she loved me; but she must marry the mayor because I was a bastard.It really pissed me off (although I admit that the jerk was a good one), but after get off work I had to go see her again.This is because I need something imported - my motorcycle is running out of gas.In addition to asking her for gasoline, you can also use industrial crude benzene mixed with a little diesel to make gasoline. I used this oil for a while last year, and two plus signs appeared in my urine, which means that I have begun to be poisoned by benzene. It will soon swell into a large blister.Another option is to sell my petite Japanese motorcycle for a diesel paint tray.The latter is very similar in appearance and structure to the mass-produced walking tractors of the twentieth century. To be honest, they are basically the same thing; thus, they do not need gasoline.There is another insurmountable difficulty in doing this-I am a bit of a strong man now, and if I want to crank up the diesel engine in winter, I will definitely not be able to return to success.The last way is to walk or cycle to work instead of motorcycles.This is definitely not possible, the black smoke on the road can choke me to death.In addition to these reasons, there is one more important reason: this Japanese motorcycle is a beautiful thing, and I cannot give it up.So whether I wanted to or not, I had to ask for gas.And there is nothing immoral about it in itself, because almost everyone in our ministry "looks shoulder to shoulder" with more than one female secretary (in other words, has a female secretary and the head's wife as a mistress), and sometimes asks them for import loans, and These female secretaries have all practiced here.If there was no internship system, everyone would have to grow beards like me (cast iron knives can't shave beards, they can only shave off the skin, you have to use imported blades), but few people grow beards.The mean thing about it is that I haven't seen her in half a year, and every time she calls, I yell to the person who answers: tell her I'm not there.The first time I went to her was to ask for something, so what was I?But I decided to go to her anyway, and to record the incident in my diary.Stuff like this should be reported to the number blind.It would be nice if the mayor knew I fucked his wife.

Before I went to her, I felt awkward for a long time.To prove that I have feelings for her, I knitted her a long sweater.In fact, I don't need to knit a sweater. I just need to tell the Ministry, and someone will ask me for gasoline.But it's about to spread among the secretaries all over the city, and it's a fatal humiliation to my ex-wife (explaining that her ponytail blew).I really don't want this.I went to her with a sweater, but I wasn't ashamed to bring it out - I always thought it was a bit of a bribe.She gave me gas and a whole lot of teasing, which I took in stride.Until she saw my license plate, she laughed for a while and said: So you are an honest person!Why didn't I think of it before.Whoa, whoa, whoa... I became furious, ran to the yard, started the car and wanted to run away, when I suddenly thought of a sweater in the toolbox, so I took it out and threw it at her, saying: Take it , I don't owe you anything.Then ran home.

About that license plate should be explained.I thought about the possibility that I might die suddenly—say, being hit by a car in the street, or having a stroke—in any case, not in self-pity or sudden sentimentality, but there is a possibility, so do something about yourself. Summarize.So I made a license plate that said "I am an honest man".The sign hung for several days without anyone noticing it.Of course, I am not saying that I have never lied—if there are such people, they are not in China—on the contrary, I have to admit that I do not tell much truth.I mean I'm generally honest.That said, I tend to be as honest as possible in everything I do.No one can refute this.But when my ex-wife saw this brand, it was like seeing a big joke, which greatly bruised my self-esteem.

The accounting for gasoline and sweaters is as follows: gasoline is a special imported supply, and it is also a dangerous product, which is not available to ordinary people.If you have a car, you need as much as you want, if you don’t, gasoline is a priceless treasure; and sweaters are handicrafts woven by Wang Er, if you are Wang Er, you need as much as you want, if you are not Wang Er , that is also priceless.The above calculation is for renminbi. If you get it on the US dollar black market near the port, the sweater is worth more, because Wang Er is a professional arts and crafts artist, and he is somewhat famous.

In dollar terms, bad diesel and woven sweaters are worthless garbage - except for a certain brand of diesel that can be sold to homeless people because it can be used as a drug - but it is illegal to buy and sell things on the black market, So this algorithm cannot be considered.Within an algorithm that can be considered, a sweater is equivalent to gasoline.By the way, diesel is made of various things, the composition is complex and unstable, and sometimes it can create some miracles.Some diesel oil can be used for cooking – that is to say, too much rapeseed oil can be mixed; some diesel can be used to paint walls – that is to say, too much tung oil can be mixed; Mixed too much.As long as it is not the last case, the diesel engine designed by me can be added.My design is like a Chinese pig, which can eat all kinds of things, even shit.Miracles be miracles, they're still a bunch of junk, worthless - because it can turn your life into trash.

The enlightenment from this incident is that there are two ways to create real value, one is to use industrial sophistication, and the other is to use hands and hearts.Those produced by other methods are all excrement.But manure is not dangerous.I live in a wooden house on the mountain. The floor is covered with hand-woven carpets made by myself, and the tapestries hanging on the walls are also made by myself.I also have a Fisher brand audio equipment, which I replaced with a tapestry and Xiao Xu.My house is warm, cozy and quiet.I lay on the carpet at night and listened to American country music, and I didn't feel itchy at all.This is due to taking a hot bath at her house during the day.It was disgraceful, but I couldn't resist the temptation.In that white porcelain bathroom, I also took a few sips of the hot water from the shower—it was sweet and better than the drinking water we were given.I was very thirsty.Before that, she gave me Coke, but I didn't drink it.This seems to confirm what my ex-wife said: As long as I can get over my rebelliousness, everything will be fine.My ex-wife lived in a small yard, a beautiful house with tinted glass windows.There are a few dwarf Podocarpus pine trees in the yard, which are covered with nice floor tiles - I described it when I saw it for the first time, and then I hated this kind of floor tiles and this yard.She also asked me why I didn't come here all the time, and I said the mayor lived next door, which was of course an excuse.The real reason is that I don't have a yard like this.But if she had said that, she would have cried out: What's the use of worrying about me?This world is not arranged by me!

Maybe it's because I took a bath during the day, or maybe it's because the room is too warm, and that thing on me has become very stubborn again.After the thing straightened up, there was an arc upward.Because of the way it looks, it was the subject of ridicule by my ex-wife.In fact, it looks very handsome, and all the crafts that express it are like this.Just then, someone knocked on my window—it was my ex-wife.She wrapped herself in a clear plastic cloak—one of the things women wear outside the house these days, otherwise it would be the same color as soot.Underneath this cloak was the woolen coat I gave her—I wove it like a lotus scale armor, just above her thighs—and she wore nothing underneath, except for her boots and Dense goosebumps.She came here on foot, probably for an hour and a half, but she still forced a smile and said: I am here to thank you for giving me the sweater.It took a long time for her to warm up.We both made love and she spent the night with me.She said: You are indeed an honest man.There is a pleasure in making love to an honest person, and nothing in making love to a dishonest person—that's the difference.

My ex-wife is thirty-five years old and still very original.She wanted to stay and spend a few days with me, but I said no.Woke up early the next morning, sent her back by motorcycle, and then went to pick up Xiao Xu.This time she refused to wear the sweater, fearing that it would get dirty, so she wrapped herself in a blanket and showed her bare legs on the back seat, which opened the eyes of the people in half the city.This would have caused an uproar when I was young.But now nothing happens.If the disciplinary police arrest me, I will say that I belong to the technical department.If he still doesn't let me go, I'll say that I have something wrong--why only other people are allowed to have problems, but not me?In fact, as long as the people in the technical department don't kill people and set fires, and don't get caught by the security guards, they can do anything.

One thing that needs to be explained is: If I were judged to be numerically blind, I would not mess around with the leader's wife.People who can't count don't mess around, and if the organization doesn't arrange it, they won't even mess with their own wives.I think this should be known to the superiors.