Reborn As a Pirate

At two o'clock in the afternoon, Wesley went down the street.

Sawdust brown bread? Burnt brown bread? Or grassy brown bread?

A gentleman in a tuxedo is choosing today's dinner in front of the bakery.

His dress is very old, old but clean, the conspicuous places are patched with inconspicuous color difference, and the inconspicuous places are very casual.

But at least the dress is complete, swallowtail, waistcoat, breeches, shirt, the toe of the leather boots has been pierced, and the ribbon of the top hat is only half left.

Such people are not uncommon in Boston and even in the entire United States. They were also young people who came to the New World with ambition to work hard, but they were finally defeated by reality. dream.

In short, ordinary.

A carriage stopped at the intersection, and a handsome gentleman jumped out of the carriage, leaning on a long umbrella, tall and strong.

He picked up a beautiful red-haired woman from the car, and the two cuddled together, passed the husband intimately, set foot on the long street, and gradually drifted away.

Like every competent man, Mr. watched the beauty go away, and then lowered his head until the curves in his eyes were no longer clear.

A man who wears women's clothes, a woman who wears men's clothes...it's a weird world.

He scribbled down today's dinner on the self-service list, took off the saw next to the shelf, saw off a small piece of sawdust bread skillfully, held it in his hand, and walked slowly to the scale at the counter.

70 grams of bread, one penny, thank you. The sloppy store manager took the money, and pushed the self-service order including the bread to the clerk. into the pocket.

Shop manager, I'm going to take a shit. The guy said.

Don't go to the back door of Old Gert's house. His wife stepped on shit yesterday and blocked the door and cursed all night.

Understood, go to the side door today.

The lazy guy went out from the back door, bypassed the two neighbors, walked to the tavern of the old Gert's house who had a very bad relationship with the store manager, looked around, and whistled and squeezed into the dark alley where the side door was located.

The so-called dark alley is, of course, the alley with dead ends.

Few outsiders know that there are actually alleys among the houses on the lower street, but for those shops that rely on traffic to survive, the width of the shop determines how many people they can receive at the same time. That's why the alley is artificially enclosed, and on the side facing the street, it becomes a part of the storefront.

The dark alleys are dirty and messy.

Old Gert's tavern specializes in low-quality alcohol mixed with water. The other end of the side door is directly connected to the lobby of the tavern. The night here is as lively as the street. The daytime here is full of dead ghosts, and occasionally dead bodies are mixed in.

The man stepped on the lying meat as if no one was there, picked a good place, and moistened the soil heartily.

After finishing the internal affairs, he took out today's self-service list from his pocket to do the external work. After finishing the external work, he stood up and found that there was actually one left in the other pocket.

Tch, go back... He threw away the list in disgust, and whistled again.

The whistle turned out of the alley, and one of the lying meat on the ground moved.

The drunk man stretched out his hand to grope on the ground, and several times he almost caught the gift from the buddy, and was lucky to avoid it again, and again and again, he finally found a comfortable point of exertion.

Snapped!

He slapped the bad ground in the alley with his big hand, grabbed with five fingers, and supported the drunk with his arms, and stood up straight against the wall.

He hiccupped limply, and looked suspiciously at the note he grabbed when he lifted it up.

Lucky! He laughed, he laughed, I still had wine stored last night,

The wine list hasn't been lost yet, lucky, la... hiccup! go home.

The drunk man stuffed the note into his pocket, staggered out of the dark alley, made two turns, and walked into the fence of a wooden house away from the main street.

A young man in a waiter's uniform came up to him and helped him up: Uncle Ralph! Really, you're going to drink again!

Little Rice! Hahahahahaha! Little Rice is going to work again, to earn uncle's wine money, to earn uncle's wine money...

He sprinkled the wine and danced wildly, a crumpled note flew out of his pocket, hit Les on the forehead, and fell into Les's arms.

Les angrily pushed the drunk to the ground, unfolded the note and glanced at it: You actually brought back the wine list! The family can hardly afford bread!

Is there wine, hehehe, bread is not important...

Bread is not important, and neither is wine! Little Rice took out a lighter from his uniform, lit the note in front of the drunk, and threw it on the ground.

The drunk screamed and pounced on it, stuffing the note into his mouth like he was on fire, and chewing.

The fire is out... hiccup... it's gone, you can drink again...

May God drown you in wine! I'm off to work!

Leaving behind his uncle who could not be redeemed, Les quickly walked out of the house, moving forward and upward along the empty streets and alleys.

He soon came to the side alley, crossed Wesley Street along the side alley, turned into the upper side of the street, and walked into the Lundy Cafe with the selling point of appreciating poverty and feeling the happiness of life through the back door.

Shop Manager, I'm at work! Rice reported.

Little Lace... The shop manager with a friendly face poked his head out, Outside, order at table three.

I'll go right away!

Les trotted out of the gate, and went straight to table No. 3, which was next to the side alley. On the table was a middle-aged artist alone, who was concentrating on sketching across the alley.

Les took a peek and saw that the painting was not yet finished, but the corner of the drawing board had already been named, [Lowliness], humble.

The painter was keenly aware of his gaze: Young man, do you want to learn to draw?

No, sir. Rice took out his order, What would you like to drink?

A latte, two puffs...

A group of dirty children ran like the wind over the fence, laughing and shouting.

The painter covered his nose in displeasure, and when he looked up, he saw Les writing furiously.

I need to write so many words for what I ordered? the painter was puzzled.

No one's life is easy, sir. Rice stopped writing and took the order, Please wait a moment for the order, goodbye.

He opened the door of the store, just when he heard a commotion not far away.

A red-haired beauty in men's clothing came across the street with a tall gentleman on her arm, walking intimately from the lower street to the upper street.

Order... Hurry up.

Les entered the store, murmured to himself and threw the order into the bar. The barista took a look at the order and asked softly, Is the customer in a hurry?

Finally hurry up.

The barista tore off the order and went into the back kitchen, wrote a wine list and handed it to his assistant chef: I've run out of wine pairings for Irish coffee, go to Lucas Winery opposite and ask for a bottle, hurry up, customer I need it urgently.

AYA!

The chef responded, and ran across the main street into Lucas Winery at the fastest speed: Mr. Lucas, the teacher wants a bottle of Irish whiskey. Here is the wine list. Please hurry up!

A bottle of Irish whiskey... Lucas took the wine list and turned to get the wine. Irish whiskey...Irish...the cabinet is sold out.

Then... what to do then!

Don't worry! Lucas laughed loudly, As long as it is the wine from my hometown, there are private goods, and I will go upstairs to get it for you now.

Please! Come on!

Okay, impatient little guy, your Mr. Lucas is always fast. Like this, fast, fast, very fast...