Late autumn night prose

Late autumn night, full of refreshing quiet beauty. However, every quiet night has its own flavor.

For a long time, I haven't had a good drink. Perhaps time has played down the secretion of enzymes, or I haven't seen myself for a long time. Just after the cold dew, the cold air came quietly through the solar terms, and people invariably added clothes. At night, the smog is extremely thick, and the visibility is only a dozen meters, which makes people breathless. Still walking along Kaiyuan Road, crossing the zebra crossing and stopping a little, the distance is already hazy.

A person, sitting in a small shop he has been to, Yashiju. The store is still warm, or there are warm smiling faces, or there is a sad fate of May. For an instant, I was surrounded by the warmth of revisiting my old place. One person, one tea, one wine and one thought, the aftertaste and longing for late autumn and night have been quietly released.

Self-drinking is the easiest way to be sentimental and nostalgic. The night is still light, and I'm a little drunk.

Isn't that Brother Zijun? Looking up, four or five intimate friends have come to the side. All writers who did news reports together ten years ago. Into the big private room, warm and harmonious. A farewell to ten years, a flick of a finger for ten years, once green and angular, let the years quietly swallow up. In the late autumn ten years later, in the late autumn night ten years later, we gained a calm and calmness from each other. Greetings to each other, memories of the past, and feelings about the years are all integrated into the drink.

Walking out of this small shop, I don't know when the autumn wind will start, and the thick smog has gone away. The lonely moon is hanging in the air, and the streets have never been so empty and deserted. I couldn't help feeling a little cold, pulled my collar and walked home along the familiar path.

No sooner had I reached the third floor than I heard someone calling my name. It was a man who couldn't rest assured when he saw me drunk and followed me home. I was so moved that I helped him through the building and watched him stroll home in a secluded alley.

The night is already deep, and the corner of Jianshe Street is still brightly lit. Several people are whispering, piling up old things, taking advantage of the comfortable road at dawn and moving to the temporary transitional room. From then on, they bid farewell to the shelter.

1994, I was bathed in the joy of housewarming and moved into the fund-raising room of a public institution. After more than 20 years, quadrangles scattered on both sides of the road and people gathered in buildings have become neighbors who live together day and night, rendering a profound friendship. In some old streets, we share a quiet life.

No matter how shabby or even shabby your residence is, it will always be your home. But just when the shallow winter is coming, a house that once lived in a cold and warm place will be demolished in an instant and become a ruin. I have never visited the warmth of home in my life. I think their mood at the moment may be as cold and helpless as a late autumn night.

The joy of meeting old friends and drinking heartily finally overcame the pain of vomiting again and again. Scrubbing in a hurry, the prompt sound of information, accompanied by the ringing of midnight bell. I replied: get home safely and start for your dream!