On the way to and from work, I always have to pass through a village.
However, despite being called a village, it is almost completely different from the concept of a "village" that is deeply ingrained in my memory.
The dense spacing between buildings squeezes out dark, sunless paths. Occasionally, dim red bricks protrude, reminiscent of an old man with rough facial features, a bad temper, and a few large teeth sticking out of his lips. Occasionally, there will be a few white boards hanging on the roadside, neatly or distortedly written with prices and contact information in black oil-based pens, telling the passing migrant workers about their low rent and "exquisite" environment.
No, I'm not exaggerating. At the entrance of these self-built small buildings in the village, which exist in the form of companies and are full of their own characteristics, there is often a sign that reads "XXXX Boutique Apartments". If you are willing to overlook the environment, lighting, comfort, etc., then the minimum monthly rent of a few hundred yuan and the extremely convenient location are enough to prove that the landlords are telling the truth.
On this evening, the night had already become thick. The dark clouds were like heavy curtains spread across the sky, blocking the cold moonlight. The moisture brought by days of rain seemed to be locked in the air, rolling with the wind, giving pedestrians a sticky and slippery feeling.
Just like the past few hundred days, I held my phone as usual and walked on the uneven sidewalk. One shop after another lined the roadside, and the light beads under the signs emitted colorful and hazy colors in the mist. Due to the narrow interior space, most of the food shops would choose to place a few more tables outside the door, squeezing the already narrow road as much as possible.
Making way for oncoming pedestrians, avoiding the invading tables and chairs, exhaling the moist air mixed with the smell of grease, I walked slowly on the road like this-the uneven stone brick road always caused great inconvenience for those with poor balance.
While walking, a cool feeling seeped into my head. Subconsciously, I looked up and saw a water droplet on the eaves becoming fuller, shaking, as if it was eager to experience the feeling of shattering itself. I was dazed for a moment, stopped, and was about to rub my hair to wake up, but suddenly heard the sound of a low-quality horn.
I turned my head and saw a small pink helmet, outlining an oval shape in the yellow beam of light. There should be a face below, but for a moment, it was difficult to tell whether it was a man or a woman. This electric scooter was so small that the person riding on it also looked like a child, short, slender, and irritable. Before the rider could irritate my ears again, I instinctively turned my body sideways and let them pass swaggeringly.
The sound of my heart beating wildly came from my chest, and I looked at the empty road next to me, subconsciously touching my chest, until another water droplet hit my neck, awakening this silent, tired, and innocent pedestrian under the eaves.
I remembered that a friend had previously advised me to buy a small electric scooter. "It's very convenient for commuting, and it's faster than waiting for the bus," he said at the time. I agreed with his statement but rejected the proposal.
Later, from one day on, he also started driving to work. I asked why, and it was simple: he collided with another car on the road and scraped his arm. In the end, he sighed and said, "It's still safest to ride an electric scooter on the sidewalk."
I continued to nod in agreement. What he said was indeed very reasonable.
So I stubbornly insisted on walking and taking the bus as usual.
So I still hated the vehicles shuttling on the sidewalk, whether they were human-powered or electric-powered.