American Comics: Opening Guidance Batman

Popular recommendation:

In the middle of winter, on the dry branches of the trees, little sparrows line up, combing their feathers, one of them spreads its wings and flies to the ground, jumping in the snow all over the ground, looking for possible existences. food.

One hand scatters a crumb, many sparrows gather, and the bakery owner in a cotton hat and an apron straightens up and pats the remaining crumb from his hand.

With a creak, the sound of the bicycle brakes came, and the tightly wrapped newsboy took off his gloves and tapped the bell with his fingers.

The baker's owner, wearing thick cotton boots, stepped on the snow on the ground, and frightened the sparrows that had just fallen into the air. He strode across the sidewalk and came to the street. Take the newspaper.

"It's you clever little **** again! You must know that the gentlemen here are the best talkers, and they can grab the work here every time."

The newspaper boy who delivered the paper was a freckled little boy who, like most children in Gotham, was lively, wild, and rebellious.

These children shuttled through the streets of Gotham like this, not afraid of wind, frost, rain and snow, and always full of vitality, just like sparrows foraging through the streets in winter. They are the most vibrant scenery in Gotham, the sin city.

The bakery gave the newsboy a small piece of toasted brown bread, and he asked, "Any gossip lately?"

The newsboy picked up the bread and took a bite. He was so hot that he gasped. He gasped in his mouth and said intermittently, "It's not bad."

"I heard that the charity dinner in the Metropolitan City was very successful. The rich and wealthy old people donated a lot of money to deal with the traffic problems caused by the snow disaster."

"I heard that our mayor bought several large snow plows after receiving donations. Now that the central carousel and the pier in the eastern district have been cleared out, it would not be possible to resume traffic today."

The newsboy took another bite of the hot black bread, and the tip of his nose was red from the cold. He wiped his nose with his hand, took two more breaths of cold air, and said:

"Gotham University is resuming classes today. You can only see that the pampered teachers and professors can drive to work, and you will know that good times are coming."

"Thank God!" The bakery owner sneezed, rubbed his nose, and said angrily:

"The traffic has been paralyzed these days, and I can't sell my bread. If it weren't for you little guys who could help me deliver things to those regular customers, I'm afraid it would have closed long ago."

"Oh, that's right!" The bakery owner suddenly remembered something, he stretched out a hand, shook his finger, patted his forehead, turned around, and hurried back to the shop, startled again Many sparrows foraging.

After a while, he came out with a kraft paper bag and said, "Professor Rodriguez's housekeeper called last night and ordered the bread that was just baked this morning. You help me deliver it to me at noon today. Please eat black rice cakes and sausages..."

The newsboy snapped his fingers, indicating that there was no problem. After he took the kraft paper bag, he tucked it into his arms, leaned forward, held the handle of the bicycle, and stepped on the pedals hard, and the bicycle flew out quickly.

Seeing his back disappearing into the street, the bakery owner shook his head, strode back into his shop, and when he went to the counter to look at the order records, he said to himself:

"It's weird, didn't that professor always like to eat lye bread? Why did he buy butter toast instead?"

The flipped order form made a rustling sound, and the bakery owner shook his head and whispered, "...It's probably a guest."

"When, when, when, when, when..."

When the clock of the manor rang, Schiller stood in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows on the first floor, stretched and yawned, then walked to the dining table and picked up the water glass above.

Holding a water glass, he walked around the hall on the first floor, and then stopped in the middle of the room a little confused, and began to think about a question - if he wants to drink water, where should he go?

Among Marvel’s nursing homes, Schiller’s living room was renovated from the original bank president’s lounge. It was a one-bedroom with a bedroom and a living room. An electric kettle was placed on the table in the bedroom, and there was an automatic automatic in the living room. Water dispenser, get up every morning and find water you can drink within 10 steps.

Schiller knew that it was 1988, and he had also experienced this era before crossing, but when he experienced this era, he never owned a manor.

Now standing in the front hall of the manor with more than 600 square meters, Schiller is a little confused and thinks, is this the life of the nobles?

Just when Schiller was standing at the entrance of the stairs with a cup in hand, hesitating whether to walk for 10 minutes to find the kitchen, Merkel hurriedly ran down the stairs.

It could be seen that he was really anxious, the buttons of his suit jacket were not buttoned properly, the tie was not fastened, and even his hair was simply combed twice, and there were still two strands of hair on the top of his head that did not fit.

"Sorry, sir, why are you up so early today?"

"Morning?" Schiller looked down at his watch, it was 5:30 in the morning, then he turned to look at the window, it was still dark outside.

Merkel wiped her eyes hard, trying to wake herself up, but she felt that her mind was still confused. He was deeply shocked by Schiller's unpredictable schedule.

Before coming here, what he had learned at the Butler Academy was that butlers had to adapt as much as possible to their employers' schedules so that they could serve them in a timely manner.

Therefore, after coming to work at Rodriguez Manor, Merkel worked hard to adjust her schedule to the same as Schiller.

In the past, Schiller's work and rest time was outrageous. In this age when there were no electronic devices, he often stayed up until two or three o'clock in the middle of the night before going to bed. Get up and eat just one brunch.

Merkel finally adjusted her normal schedule to be exactly the same as Schiller's underworld schedule, but since Schiller came back from the Met, his schedule has become normal again, or even a little too much, every night at 8:00 Sleep between ~9:00, wake up between 5:00~6:00 in the morning...

Merkel stood on the steps, holding the armrest of the chair, feeling dizzy, but he still tried to cheer up, he took the water glass in Schiller's hand and said: "Sorry, sir, I didn't arrange anyone to get up in the morning. Boil water, I'll go right now, do you want breakfast?"

"Of course, didn't you order bread for me last night?"

"Uh, but the newsboys in the western district can't come in until 7:30 at the earliest. The newspaper office and bakery are not open at this time."

Through the floor-to-ceiling window on the right, Schiller glanced at the street outside. It was still pitch black, and there was not even a single person.

Although Gotham can be regarded as an international metropolis, it is still around the 1990s, the pace of life is not so fast, and the West District is an old city, and the old-fashioned rich people live here, and few people live here. get up so early.

Schiller sighed and said, "Okay, call me when breakfast is ready."

After speaking, he went upstairs and went back to the bedroom, and Merkel, who was standing on the stairs, looked at Schiller's back upstairs, and became more and more puzzled.

If it happened on a regular basis, Schiller would have joked with him with a cold sense of humor, such as "I hope you will call and order bread faster next time than the group of sparrows in front of the bakery" or something , then gave up eating breakfast and drove straight to Gotham University for classes.

Of course, Merkel did not forget the strange dream she had.

At that time, while Schiller was away, he wanted to look for some clues in the manor, and then he found that the doors of all important rooms were locked, and then set up a series of puzzles, which he took a lot of effort to solve After solving the problem, he entered Schiller's dream because he touched a bottle of wine on the shelf.

At that time, Merkel had no choice but to ask Schiller to help him protect the mysterious East Coast agent and protect the list. Schiller did not answer him directly, and Merkel had no way of knowing what happened that day. what.

For him, the mysterious agent is still missing, and the list is unknown. The only good thing is that he is sure that his employer doesn't mind that he is actually a Soviet agent, as long as he does his job well, maybe this will happen. Become a stable disguised identity.

But now, his biggest trouble is that since Schiller came back from the charity dinner at the Met, he seems to have changed a person, from his work and rest time, living habits to the way of speaking, it is completely different.

From the first day Merkel came here, he wanted to collect enough information about his employer, which would not only help him work more smoothly, but also part of his work as a special agent. After a period of time together, Merkel felt she had figured out Schiller's temper.

As a result, his efforts were now in vain.

The boiling kettle made a high-pitched whine. Merkel walked quickly across the corridor and took the kettle off the stove. He took a towel from a hook on the wall next to him, wrapped the handle of the kettle, and came with the kettle. In the front hall of the manor, after filling the water, he went upstairs with a tray.

In the bedroom, Schiller was leaning on the bedside and reading a book, Merkel put the water on the bedside table, and then paused a little hesitantly.

Schiller put down the book and looked up. He asked, "What's wrong? Didn't the breakfast preparation go well?"

"Well, no, sir, I just wanted to say... just... how have you been a little... um..."

"Oh~www.NovelMTL.com~ I have an anxiety disorder, so my behavior will be a little different from before, don't mind, maybe it will get better soon."

"Anxiety?" Merkel muttered with some doubts, but remembering Schiller's unusual temper before, he felt that this explanation barely made sense.

Just when he was about to ask more carefully, suddenly, the bell of the mailbox came from downstairs, and he looked back at the clock hanging on the wall. It was just 6 o'clock.

Merkel quickly left the room, put down the tray, put on her coat, and walked out of the gate of the manor. Sure enough, the newsboy was standing in front of the letterbox outside the door, waving at him.

"Why are you so early today?"

Merkel greeted him very familiarly. There are very few newsboys who travel to and from the West District. Merkel knows almost all of them. Today, the one he knows best is the one he knows best. The small freckles on his face make it easy to identify him. .

"The traffic at the pier in the East District has completely recovered. Don't you know that? After delivering the newspapers here, I have to go there to grab work."

"Wharf traffic has resumed?" Merkel took the newspaper and a bag of bread handed over by the newsboy. Then he took a few coins from his pocket and put them in the newsboy's hand. The newsboy with small freckles picked it out. Raising his eyebrows, without waiting for him to ask, Merkel said:

"You came too early today, the bread hasn't been baked yet. The cold bread is too hard and will gnaw your teeth. You'd better buy something to eat yourself."

The newsboy stretched out his hand, stuffed the coin into his pocket, squinted his eyes and smiled, looking mischievous and cute, and said:

"Say hello to Professor Rodriguez for me! He's a great guy, always has been!"