Although many people don't admit it, such as the citizens of the royal capital Beldyland, Nolan City is indeed one of the cities with the best population density and economic situation on the entire continent.
The Monday morning here is always full of hustle and bustle. No matter what period it is, as long as there are periodic holidays, most people will always feel extremely lazy on the first day after the holiday.
Such was the case with Mr. Goodman, who had to look for a new job at the newspaper because of the closing of the machine shop. But as an experienced manager, he soon had a new source of income.
His current job is at the very famous Cooks Textile Company in Nolan City. This is a truly multinational company, and its products can be found in the three kingdoms. Whether it is Her Royal Highness who is worried about the situation of mathematicians, or a mathematician who is worried, they will touch their products.
And its headquarters is located in Nolan, if it wasn't for a friend of Mr. Goodman's youth who worked there as a personnel manager, he wouldn't have had the chance to get the job.
He stood in the foyer of his house, watching his wife adjust her collar on tiptoe.
"I may come back later at night, and winter is coming soon, and work may be busy."
"It's all right, dear. Be careful on the road."
The woman stood on tiptoe and kissed him on the cheek, took off her apron and opened the door. Ignoring the cold air outside, I walked into the yard with my husband in cotton slippers.
"It's really not peaceful recently. This morning's daily newspaper urgently published the accident that the gas pipe and steam pipe exploded last night. I don't know who destroyed whom."
Mr. Goodman was wearing a brown plush suit, holding a black briefcase in his right hand, and a pair of shiny leather shoes on his feet. Of course, without cotton socks, the toes cannot withstand such temperatures.
"It doesn't matter, those bloodsuckers charge such high steam and gas fees every month, it can't be less than a copper, and now it explodes, huh~ the people in the city hall are holding our gold pounds Playing in the water?"
As a housewife, Mrs. Goodman is very concerned about domestic life.
"City hall cares about ordinary taxpayers like us?"
Speaking of this point, the middle-aged gentleman couldn't help complaining, but he soon pulled himself together. In fact, it was the cold wind this morning that forced him to shut his mouth.
After all, there is still some distance between the explosion that happened on the other side of the city and their lives. As long as it's not artificial and the prisoners don't live next door, they don't really have any fear.
"Speak up."
While the two were talking, they walked outside. Mrs. Goodman looked at her neighbor, the house of Mr. Williamt, who was single.
"Speaking of which, what does Mr. Williams do? Although he goes out to work every day, he feels much more relaxed than you."
"An apprentice in an antique shop."
Mr. Goodman replied,
"Then why does he live here..."
Seeing his wife showing an unbelievable expression, the man tugged her, and then whispered:
"Don't talk nonsense. Remember the party I attended last week when I was hired, my boss, that mean fat guy, mentioned something."
He whispered the rumors he had heard in his wife's ear, and the expression of disbelief on the woman's face became even stronger.
"Don't talk nonsense to others."
The man stretched out his hand and asked, but his face was still very proud, because he knew a secret that his wife didn't know: "Although Mr. Williams is younger, he looks very young. But this is a real gentleman, A real nobleman. We don't want to discuss casually about this kind of high society matters. No one wants to get themselves into trouble... "
He closed his mouth and greeted his neighbor on the same street, Mrs. Margaret, a widow who lived alone.
The woman looked a little unhappy, but she stopped and talked to the couple for a while. After she left, a middle-aged man with a briefcase also walked past Margaret's house. Although he was a stranger he had never seen before, he probably took a detour to go to work.
Thinking of this, Mr. Goodman couldn't help thinking about his future. Due to the bankruptcy of the original company, he has to adapt to a new job at this age. Although it is not bad to work in a textile company for a lifetime, the work intensity is too great.
"Is Mrs. Margaret a bit fat? In summer, she is not like this."
Mrs. Goodman did not pay attention to her husband's expression, but stood on tiptoe to look at the woman's distant figure. She didn't have the habit of prying into the privacy of her neighbors, but since she lived on the same street, she would always be curious.
"Probably because I'm afraid it's too cold today and I'm wearing too many clothes."
Mr. Goodman replied absently, worrying about his hairline. This is something that middle-aged men should pay attention to. He is no longer a young man like his neighbor, Mr. William. Time is fair to everyone.
Since Mr. Williams' former owner of the house, the baron who was addicted to gambling, did not often appear here, the Goodmans and Widow Margaret were in fact the neighbors who communicated frequently. But until now, the Goodman family did not know the specific situation of Mrs. Margaret, only heard her talk about her tragic past.
"I'm going to be late, so see you tonight."
The middle-aged man pushed open the fence door, looked to both sides with some guilt, and then quickly kissed his wife on the cheek.
"See you tonight."
The woman said the same, and watched her husband walk into the morning mist.
"Ahem."
She coughed twice, not because of the disease, but because of the air.
"The newspapers seem to say that a bill to regulate exhaust gas is coming."
She closed the gate, muttered softly, and quickly dropped the question. She is just a small citizen, and this kind of question should be considered by the gentlemen in the city hall and parliament.
My own cat also ran out, barked softly at her, and then looked at the window on the second floor of the house next door. It shivered a bit, as if it saw something terrible, and quickly fled back into the house with its tail between its legs.
Mrs. Goodman also turned her head to look at that side. The curtains of Mr. Williamette's bedroom were carelessly left open.
"It's called Chocolate."
She looked at the cat on the window sill and whispered, thinking of the young William lying on the bed sleeping soundly, her face immediately flushed.