On Saturday morning, Lister Street welcomed the enthusiasm of resting citizens as usual. They start the day with a nice brunch in the backstreets of Lister Street and a satisfying leisure trip on Lister Street.
The bus from the West District to the North District was mixed with luxury limousines, along the Charles River, and entered the North District. After passing Fenway Park in Back Bay, we drove in the direction of Lester.
Like many citizens who took the bus into Lister Street, a young man who looked to be in his early twenties was sitting on the seat. He was bent over, his head lowered, and his thin gray long-sleeved hooded jacket clung to his face. It’s a strong body that is exercised regularly, with a soft hood covering the head.
People can't see his expression, but they can see his arms supported on his knees, the palms of his hands holding each other, and his broad shoulders that are shaking slightly. It seemed that the young man was nervous about something. His jeans-clad legs occasionally touched the paper bag beneath him to prevent the shaking of the bus from causing the contents to fall out.
His attire was a bit out of place now that summer had already entered. There was a slight heat coming out of his exposed neck, and beads of sweat oozing out from the skin of his neck.
"Are you okay?" The woman sitting on the young man's side pulled her child and pressed the young man's shoulder with concern.
The young man turned his head and smiled, showing his neat white teeth. "Thank you, I'm fine." His blue eyes showed genuine gratitude.
The skin on the woman's fingers was not very smooth. She touched the young man's shoulder with concern, thought for a while, and took out a can of water from her bag. "You should add some water. It's very hot now."
"Thank you." The young man did not refuse. He took the water from the other person's rough hand with a smile, opened the bottle cap, raised his head, and his protruding Adam's apple rolled up and down.
She felt much better indeed. The young man gratefully returned the half-empty jug to the woman, smiling apologetically. The woman smiled nonchalantly and continued to hold her child, waiting for the bus to arrive at its destination.
The young man lowered his head again. He could feel that he was surrounded by kind people.
Those people who go from the West District to the North District on weekends still need to take buses, which means they already know which class they belong to in the West District.
The bus has not arrived at the terminal yet, but to the people on the bus, they have reached their destination. People poured out when the back door opened. The young man waited patiently at the end, picked up his paper bag, and got out of the car after the crowd.
The sunshine of September was just beautiful. The young man squinted his eyes and looked at the sky, showing a complicated smile.
His fingers clenched the paper bag tightly, but instead of following the flow of people, they were immediately attracted by the things in the shop windows on both sides of the street and scattered in all directions. His purpose seemed very clear, and he walked along Lister Street until he reached the middle of the street.
Liszt Street does not allow vehicles to enter, so there is an intersecting tenth road in the middle, which is connected to Liszt Back Street. The young man was standing at this most crowded intersection, and he happened to catch up with the flow of people finishing brunch in the back streets.
Men and women in exquisite clothes passed by him, and occasionally someone he knew stopped in surprise, "Hi! Blake! I heard you're back!"
The young man took a deep breath and smiled.
"How was college?" The other party seemed to want to chat, "I heard that you have completed your bachelor's degree and are applying for graduate school."
Blakehead, he didn't know how to end this conversation.
Fortunately, the other party seemed to notice his discomfort, smiled and waved, "Send my regards to Mr. and Mrs. Stone (Blake's surname) for me."
Blake breathed a sigh of relief, nodded again, and pursed his lips as he watched the acquaintance leave. He knew that since he had decided, he would definitely do it.
There are still so many people, they are smiling, relaxed, and walking towards the things they like without any burden. This is Lister Street. If you don’t have something you want to own, you won’t come here.
However, there is another thing that attracts them in the eyes of the crowd.
People's eyes gradually widened. They temporarily put down what they wanted to buy and looked at the young man standing at the intersection.
Blake put down his hood, revealing his messy golden hair. His hands unzipped his zipper, revealing his strong chest, and then, with everyone's puzzled eyes on him, he pushed away the coat hanging on his shoulders.
not end yet.
Blake's hands fiddled with his waist, and the buttons of his jeans were unbuttoned. He bent down, untied his shoelaces, and took off his shoes awkwardly.
Some people have already covered their mouths. Those who know the young master of the Stone family are nervously pulling at the people around them, with their mouths open in uncertainty, as if they are saying, 'What is going on? ! '
Blake, who had only one vagina on his body, looked at the crowd. He pursed his lips, his chest rose and fell rapidly due to tension, and his muscles full of lines trembled slightly in the sun. His hands were placed uncomfortably at his sides, and it seemed that even his own mind was blank and he had forgotten what to do next.
If this were just a nightly show on pay-TV, for some women or a few men, it would be a moment to appreciate. But now, it's daytime. No one knows what happened! There was already a shop owner who silently picked up the phone.
Blake bent down, and his arm, which was reflected in the sunlight with a confusing light, reached into the paper bag placed aside.
A piece of cardboard was taken out, and Blake put the cardboard in front of him stiffly, holding a marker in his hand.
'What hell is your reality, written on me. '
Inexplicably, time seemed to stand still for a moment.
Zach raised his hand, raised his sunglasses, squinted and looked at the young man. He tugged on Alice's shoulder, "Let's go write."
"Hey!" Laura panicked and grabbed Alice, who was pulled forward by Zach. "Don't go." The girl lowered her voice. She seemed to be frightened. "That, that is Mr. Stone's grandson..."
Zach raised his eyebrows, what does it matter. He pulled Alice who was in a dilemma and walked up to the young man, smiled and stretched out his hand.
Blake stayed for a while, and then handed over the pen in his hand after a long time.
Zach smiled and opened the pen cap. The tip of the black marker was under Blake's collarbone. Zach chose the most convenient place and moved his arms as much as possible, 'alone'.
Blake lowered his head slightly, watching the very decent gentleman in front of him write a few words, and smiled gratefully at him.
Zach nodded and smiled, "Real hell, I like your choice of words." Then, he handed the pen to Alice.
The banshee's eyes were like that of an ordinary girl, dodging the young man's body in front of her. She looked at Zach with a panicked expression. Zach smiled encouragingly.
Alice took a few deep breaths, she stretched out her hand, and at her height, just under Blake's left breast, the Banshee wrote a few words, 'Can't live anymore'.
"Hi." Laura, who was pulled over by Louise, lowered her head nervously and awkwardly greeted the brother next door.
After Alice finished writing, she didn't seem to know what to do. Louise looked at what Zach had written and took the pen from Alice's hand with a smile, 'Losing what you have now'.
Zach smiled and took Louise's head, kissing her gently. The vampire tilted his head and looked at the nervous Blake with a smile, 'Thank you. '
Blake seemed to relax a little and smiled at Zach.
Louise waved the pen in her hand in front of Laura.
Laura took the pen hesitantly and pointed to Blake's arm, "Hand!"
Blake smiled, seemed to be completely relaxed, and stretched out his arm. Laura took the palm of this very familiar brother and thought for a long time before writing, 'grow up'.
"If you get into any trouble, don't count me in!" Laura added.
Blake smiled and shook his head, "No."
Lola Patton seems to be off to a good start.
Those who stood on the side of the road in disbelief at what they saw seemed to have a role model. Especially those who knew Laura and Blake, they were still nervous but slowly approached. The look in his eyes didn't know whether he was praising Blake for his boldness, or whether he was confused about the meaning of this.
But they took the pen handed to them by the people around them, temporarily put aside their thoughts about Blake, and began to think about what words they should leave on this young skin.
Everyone who finishes writing will get a Blake smile.
Wrong, it should be the other way around. When people write that sentence with relief, they will give Blake a smile.
'Wake up with no one next to your pillow'.
'The company cannot survive'.
'Mother's illness is worse'.
'Don't pay attention to me'.
…
The crowds are growing.
It seems that reading other people's 'hells' before writing their own words has also become one of the affairs of those who take over the pen.
They circled some words and marked them with '+1'.
'My kids don't love me'.
'No time for family'.
'Expelled'.
'No bridesmaids'.
…
When someone took over the pen, they smiled at the person who was deep in thought, "No, you can get through it."
"Thanks."
After a brief embrace, new writing was left on Blake's skin.
'Not recognized by family'.
'no friend'.
'graduate'.
'Let down'.
Blake lifted his legs, his skin covered with notes. But the person who took over the pen didn't care that he had to squat on the ground to write his own 'hell'.
They passed the pen to the next person and tapped Blake on the shoulder.
…
The crowd gathered around was pushed aside by people in police uniforms, and it was time for this 'performance art' to come to an end.
When Blake was taken away, amidst people's sighs, the flow of people quickly washed away everything that happened here without a trace.
Lister Street was back to what it should be on Saturday.