Chapter 4 Part 1 (1)

"What kind of tricks are you playing next?" There was me in the gang, named Alex, and three buddies, Peter, George, and Dim, and Dim was really stupid.Everyone sat in the shop of Korowa Milk Bar, talking about what to do tonight.It's a cold, dark winter's day, gloomy, and dreadful; luckily it's not raining: Corowa's Milk Bar is a dairies, my brethren, you may forget what such a shop looks like; things change fast these days , People are also very forgetful, and few people read newspapers.Well, besides dairy products, it also sells other goods.Although there is no license to sell alcohol in the store, the law has not prohibited the production of certain fresh things, which can be mixed with milk and drunk together.For example, if you mix it with psychedelic drugs such as Susheng, Synthetic Pills, and Manse, or one or two other new products, it will bring a quarter of an hour of hazy and quiet good time, and watch God and his spirit appear in the left boot. All the angels, the saints, lightbulbs going off everywhere in their heads.Or drink the "Milk Foam Knife," we came up with the name for it, which sharpens the mind and prepares it for a dirty twenty-to-one.That's what we drank that night.The story will start here.

We have enough leaves in our pockets, there is no need to think about grabbing more money, pushing and fucking some old guy in the alley, watching him fall in a pool of blood, while we count the income we got, and then divide it equally among the four; There's no need to go to the store and do super violence to the shivering white-haired old lady, then laugh and walk away with the money in the cash box.As the saying goes, money is not everything. The four of us wore fashionable clothes, black skin tights were fashionable at that time, it was decorated with what we called jelly molds, which were attached to the crotch below, which could also play a protective role, and it was designed in various patterns, from a certain place. It can be seen clearly from an angle.My crotch was spider-shaped, Peter's was like a palm, George's was fancy like a flower, and poor Dim had a rustic pattern like a clown's painted face.Dim didn't have much of his own way of dealing with people, and was without a doubt the dumbest of the four.Our tunics have no lapels, but the fake shoulders are huge, a mockery of their true counterparts.Brethren, we wear wide beige ties, made of mashed potatoes with a fork; our hair is not too long, and our boots are very hard and crisp, and give us a good kick.

"What kind of tricks are you playing next?" There are only three ladies sitting at the counter, but we have four men, and it is usually a situation where one serves everyone and everyone serves one.The chicks were all dressed up, too, and Gulliver was purple.The green and orange wigs cost no less than three or four weeks' wages per dye, and corresponding cosmetics are required. Rainbows are painted around the eyes, and the mouth is painted wide and big.Their black dresses were long and straight, with little silver badges pinned to their breasts, with boys' names on them: Jo, Mike, and so on.It was said that they were all boys they had slept with before they were fourteen years old.They kept looking our way, and I almost wanted to say it but didn't say it, I just said it from the corner of my mouth: the three of us should go over and have a little sex, and let poor Dim stay, just buy him half a liter a car You can pass the white wine, of course, this time you have to add some synthetic pills, but it's not like playing a game. Dim is ugly, as his name suggests, clumsy, but he is good at fighting. He is also deft with boots.

"What kind of tricks are you playing next?" There were these long, big plush seats along three walls, and the guy next to me was pretty drunk.His eyes were glazed over, and he kept saying "Aristotle hoped that the lightly made extroverted cyclamen flowers would become forked and fashionable." He was indeed in a hallucinatory state, drunk and dizzy; I knew what it was like, Tried it once, like the others; but this time I'm beginning to think it's a fool, my brethren.After drinking Moloco, I lay down, and I had visions in my mind, as if everything around me had become a thing of the past, and I could see it clearly and clearly—there were tables, stereos, lights, men and women—but it seemed that I had seen each other before, All gone now, as if hypnotized by one's own boots or nails, at the same time lifted by old scum and shaken like a pussycat.Shake, shake, till there's nothing left.Lost name, body, ego, and didn't care until boots or nails turned yellow, and kept yellowing, yellowing.And then the lights start going off like an atomic bomb, and the boot, or the fingernail, or what looks like a little mud on the butt of your pant becomes a big, big, big place, bigger than the world, and when you're about to be introduced to God, It all ended suddenly.After returning to the present place, he was still sipping, his mouth pursed, cough, that was very comfortable, but very useless.Man came to earth not just to contact God.That kind of thing will drain a person's energy and potential.

"What kind of tricks are you playing next?" The stereo was playing, and the singer's voice could be felt from one end of the bar to the other, flying straight to the ceiling, then swooping down, flying between the walls.It was Bertie Laski, husky singing a corny Japanese song called "You Blister My Lipstick."One of the three ladies sitting on the stage, the one with green hair dyed her stomach up and down accompanied by the so-called music.I could feel the "knife" in Moloko start to sting, telling me I was ready for a twenty-to-one.So I yelled "Get out! Get out!", like a puppy, and punched the guy sitting next to me, so drunk, muttering, right in the ear hole, but he didn't Feeling, continue to chanting "telephone, when far away, it can become a thud".After he wakes up from the hallucinations, he will definitely feel pain.

"Where are you going?" George asked. "Hey, keep walking," I said, "see what's going on, buddy." We ran out, into the winter twilight, walked a part of Magnita Avenue, and turned into Boothby Street, where we found what we were looking for, a little joke, the night's business at last opened.There was a frail old teacher-like figure, wearing spectacles, with his mouth open, breathing in the cold winter air.With books and a broken umbrella under his arm, he was turning the corner from the public library, which is not much used now.These days, it is rare to see elderly middle-class people going out after dark. The police force is insufficient, and our group of good young men are haunting. Therefore, this professor-looking person can be said to be the only pedestrian on the entire street.So we approached him, respectfully, and I said, "Excuse me, man."

He was a little scared when he saw the quiet, respectful, and smiling faces of the four of us.But he said, "Oh, what is it?" very loudly, like a teacher in class, as if to show us that he was not afraid.I say: "Seeing you holding a book, man, it's a rare pleasure to meet someone who is still reading a book now." "Oh," he said tremblingly, "really? I see." He looked at the four of us in turn, as if he had broken into a phalanx of smiling, polite people. "say to me. "Please show me what's in there. I'm interested, man. I like nothing more than a clean book in the world."

"Clean," he said. "Is it clean?" At this moment Peter grabbed the three books and quickly circulated them.There were only three, and we each read one, except Dim.The one I got was Fundamentals of Crystallography, and I opened it and said, "Very good, really advanced," and kept flipping the pages.Then I was surprised and he said, "What's this? What's this dirty word? It makes me blush to see it. You're letting me down, man, really." "But," he tentatively, "but...but...." "Well," said George, "I see real rubbish here: an f and a c." The book in his hand was The Miracle of Snowflakes.

"Oh," said poor Dim, looking over Peter's shoulders, and exaggerating as usual, "here's what he did to her, and pictures and whatnot. Hey, you're just a dirty-minded old fart." "An old man your age, man," I said, and started to tear the book in my hand, and the others followed suit, while Dim and Peter tug-of-war clutching The Faceted Crystal System.The man who looked like an old professor started shouting: "The book is not mine, it is the property of the city, you are so unscrupulous, you are destroying public property..." He tried to snatch the book back, which is really pitiful. "Should give you a lesson, man," I said, "That's right." The crystal book I'm holding is hard-to-tear bound, though old; presumably from an era when sturdiness was important. The product, but I still tore the pages and threw them like huge snowflakes at the screaming old man thoughtlessly.The others followed suit, while Dim danced here and there, revealing the clown's true nature. "Here," said Peter. "Great mackerel with cornflakes, here you are! You dirty-reading bastard."

"You naughty old man," I said, and we started teasing him, and Peter grabbed his hands, and George stretched his mouth wide, and Dim took his dentures out, both jaws, and he threw them on On the sidewalk, I still stomp on my boots, but the damn thing is hard.It is made of some kind of high-grade resin new material.The old man began to grunt and protest—"Whoah!"—and George let go of the hand that stretched his lips, and punched the toothless mouth with his fist, and the old man moaned violently.Brothers, blood gushed out, ah!So lovely.We ripped off his coat and left him with vest and long underpants (very old, Dim nearly lost his teeth laughing) and Peter kicked his belly sluggishly and we let him go.He stumbled and started to walk away. Actually, this time it wasn't too much pushing and rubbing. He made a sound of "ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh"We laughed foolishly and turned his pockets over.At the same time, Ding danced here and there with a broken umbrella.Not much in the pocket, a few old letters, some from as early as 1960, with "my dearest" nonsense on them; a key ring, an old leaky fountain pen.Dim broke off his "Broken Umbrella Dance," and of course he had to read the letter aloud, as if to tell the empty streets that he could read: "My dear," he recited, in this loud voice , "I will miss you when you go out; when you go out at night, pay attention to the temperature and temperature." Then he laughed loudly—"hahaha"—pretending to wipe his butt with letter paper. "Well," I said, "forget it, brethren." The old man had only a few leaves (that is, money) in his trouser pocket, no more than three gories, and we were so angry that we threw out a handful of coins. Scattered all over the place, because it's nothing compared to what we already have.Then we smashed the umbrella, tore the platties, and scattered them in the wind, which also counted as dismissing this teacher-looking person.What we've done, it's really nothing, but it's just the beginning of the night, and I'm not trying to defend it to you or your people.At this moment, the "knife" in the milk frothing knife is starting to make waves.

The next thing to do is to do good deeds, which is a way to remove some leaves, so as to force yourself to be more motivated to go into the store to loot.Moreover, it is also a clever trick to buy people's hearts in advance and get rid of crimes.So we went into the Duke of New York store on Amis Avenue.Sure enough, there were three or four old ladies in the private seats, drinking dark beer with government donations.Now we're nice lads, smiling at everyone and saying our evening prayers, but these wizened old crones start to get restless, trembling with cups in their veiny hands, and dripping beer on the table. "Don't play tricks on us, boy," said one of them, with millennia-old wrinkles, "we're just poor old ladies." But we just gritted our teeth, swished, sat down, rang the bell, and waited for the servant. O (servant) come here.He came, nervous, wiping his hands on a greasy apron, and we ordered four Legionnaires—the Legionnaire was rum and cherry brandy, which was drunk in those days, some with a little sour Orange juice, that's the Canadian way to drink it.I said to my servant: "Some nourishment for the poor old ladies over there. A large scotch each, and something to go around." I spread a bag of leaves on the table, and the other three followed suit, brother. Where are you.So, the old ladies got a double portion of high-strength gin. They were trembling and didn't know what to do or what to say. One of them said "Thank you, young man", which can be seen that they thought it was an unlucky thing. It's about to happen.Anyway, they each got a bottle of General Yankee Cognac to take home, and I paid for them each to order a dozen stouts to have delivered the next morning, and to leave the bitch's home address. Give it to the counter, and the rest of the bills, we bought all the mince pies, pretzels, cheese snacks, chips, bars of chocolate at the store, and those are also given to old women, my brothers.Then we said "Wait, I'll be right back," and the old ladies were still saying, "Thanks, lads;" "God bless you!" and we walked out of the shop penniless. "It's very refreshing," said Peter, and poor stupid Dim could be seen still confused, but he kept quiet for fear of being called a foolish mindless giant.Well, we've come around the corner to Attlee Avenue and there's this candy shop still open.We have left them alone for nearly three months, and the whole neighborhood is relatively quiet on the whole, so armed cops and patrols don’t come here very often; they are mainly active in the Hebei area these days.We put on a mask; it's a new product, it works really well, it's done really well.The masks use the facial makeup of historical figures, and the store will tell you the name of the mask when you buy it.I wear a Disraeli, Peter wears Elvis Presley, George wears King Henry VIII, and poor Dim wears a poet's mask called a Shelley; Made of a special plastic.And after use, it can be rolled up and stuffed into the boot shaft.The three of us walked in, and Peter was watching the wind outside, not that there was anything to worry about outside.As soon as we burst into the store, we threw ourselves at the owner, Sloth, who looked like a big wine jelly, and immediately saw that something was wrong, and headed straight for the back room, where there was a telephone and maybe a well-polished revolver , six dirty bullets loaded to the brim.Dim flew around the counter with the swiftness of a bird, slamming the packs of cigarettes into a large advertising clipboard, showing a chick with huge breasts advertising a new brand of cigarettes, her big gold teeth shining at customers.I saw a big ball rolling behind the curtain, the direction was the back room, and it was Dim and Slosh wrestling into a ball.Then there were gasps, hums, kicks, things falling, cursing, and then the crackling of glass.Slosh's wife seemed to be frozen behind the counter, she was going to yell murder at any moment, so I quickly ran behind the counter and grabbed her, she is really a big, smelling, big tits bouncing up and down with.I covered her mouth with my hand to prevent her from screaming and shouting, but the bitch bit me hard, and it was my turn to scream.Then she opened her mouth wide and struggled to shout the alarm.Why, we thought, she'd have to give it a good smack with the rudder of the scale, and then a smack with the box-opening crowbar, and so on, and the red-blooded old friend came out.Then we put her on the floor and pulled Platys away for fun; a little boot kick stopped her moaning.Seeing her lying there with her tits exposed made me think about it, but that happened later.So I cleaned up the cash register, and the harvest that night was really good. Everyone took a few packs of the best premium cigarettes and walked away, brothers. "What a real heavy bastard," Dim went on and on.I don't like Dim's appearance, it's dirty and messy, like someone who has been in a fight.His tie looked like someone had stepped on it, his mask was ripped off, and his face was covered in floor dust.So we pulled him into the alley, tidied up a bit, and wiped the dust off the floor with a handkerchief dipped in spit.We did all this for Dim.We were back in the "Duke of New York" in no time, and I reckoned from my watch that we had left within ten minutes.The old ladies were still there, drinking our stout and scotch, and we said, "Hey, girls, what's the trick down there?" This time came to another waiter, we ordered beer and rum, we were thirsty, brethren, and bought what the old woman ordered.Then I said to the old ladies, "We haven't been out, have we? Haven't we been here all the time?" They all caught on quickly, and said: "Yeah, lads, didn't stray away. God bless you," continued drinking. Actually, that doesn't matter.It was half an hour before there was any sign of police activity, and only two young policemen came in with red faces under their hats.A policeman asked: "Do you know what happened tonight at Sloth's?" "Us?" I said nonchalantly. "What? What happened?" "Stealing, violence. Two people sent to the hospital. Where are you guys going tonight?" "I don't like a provocative tone," I said. "It's not rare that there is something in the words, and it's vicious. It's a fucking suspicious nature, little brother." "They've been here all night, lads," the old women began bluffing. "God bless them, these kids are kind, generous, blocked. Those who stay here all the time, we don't see them move around" "We're just asking," said another note. "Everyone's the same, they're on the job." But before they left the shop, they gave us a hard look, and we responded with a smile: boo boo boo boo.However, regarding the status quo these days, I can’t help but feel that it’s not enjoyable, I don’t really fight hard, everything is as easy as flattering me.Having said that, the night is still early.