REMIX

At the beginning of September, the junior high school where Li Qianlan and I attended started. The first day of the report was payment of fees and class opening meeting, the second day was military training and placement test, and the third was getting acquainted with the new environment and people.

I am completely passive in this regard, I only like to watch those cheerful and active characters run around, and I never show up. Therefore, I am the type who has no sense of presence in any class. The teacher's comments at the end of every year since elementary school It is "introverted and quiet, diligent and down-to-earth", and in the future it will become the face that no one can remember in the graduation photo.

This period of life is lacklustre, and I can take it with just a few pens. I will neither write a secret diary under the lamp every night with excitement, nor will I deliberately pretend to be handsome and pass by the door of other classes, stuffing my love letter into it. In the pocket of a pretty girl's skirt.

Speaking of beautiful girls, I have to mention my deskmate Qiao Xinxin.

Don't look at the childish double words in her name, the ingenious homophony endows this girl with an extraordinary temperament.Her beauty is by no means gaudy, but a kind of ice-snow-smart, spiritual and heart-wrenching beauty, without language embellishment, and her every move is fundamentally different from most of the screaming and coquettish girls in the class.

Once Li Qianlan came to our class to ask me to have lunch together, and she almost suffocated when she saw her. She bumped her elbow to me after a long time and said in a low voice, do you think she looks like the actress in that Japanese movie?

I immediately took a step back, looked at him with disgust, and said, I didn't expect you to watch that kind of film, Disc Knight, you let me down.

Li Qianlan almost put my face into the bowl, and yelled in the cafeteria, "I'm talking about Lily Zhou!!!"

When Qiao Xinxin and I first sat at the same table, we didn't say a word, really, we didn't say a word, but passed papers and correction tapes to each other, and just nodded our thanks.

The strange thing is that none of us felt awkward, because it was an occasion where there was no need to communicate and talk, and we both felt trouble-free and comfortable, unlike other boys and girls in the class who had to quarrel twice over whose arm crossed the "[-]th line". In all fairness, a bit silly.

I think I have a precocious and refined soul.

In the end, Li Qianlan mercilessly exposed me, saying that you should stop pretending, you are just lazy, you find it hard to even laugh with others, you are just a living display.

I couldn't help but feel gratified for this friend's understanding of me and his superb metaphors. At the same time, I still had the urge to hit him deep in my heart.

In fact, I'm not a decoration, I just don't want to devote my energy to things that are useless to me, such as interpersonal communication, math classes and group activities, because people's mental energy is limited, but there are endless external affairs. Need to save yourself some effort.

The thing I can pour my heart into is rap.

At the end of the summer I poured out the money in my piggy bank and made a mat and got a pleasant surprise, but I ended up not choosing the record store, going to the street from our house in a sustainable way I found a Walkman in a small shop that specializes in repairing electronic equipment.

That thing has no display screen, only a circle of round buttons and a card slot for inserting a memory card underneath, like a small square clip, which can be clipped on the collar at ordinary times, so small that I hesitated when I paid for it. The nerd who repaired the computer said that I had no vision: "You don't know the goods, little boy. There is only one left in my shop. I will give you a cheap price for the sake of an acquaintance. Listen to me, good stuff."

The small box in my hand seemed to weigh a thousand catties in an instant. I nodded appreciatively and appreciatively, and asked quietly, "Then can I come here and use your computer to download things...?"

His eyes, which have been drooping for many years, as if they would fall asleep in the next second, stared at me who was making progress, pushed away the dismembered computer mainframe in front of him, and angrily crushed the cigarette butt on the corner of the black table, saying ,"Fine."

I was so happy, I carried my schoolbag on my back after school on Friday afternoon and plunged into his small shop that couldn't hold a third person. Under his guidance, I fiddled with the crystallization of science and technology, in order to repay the help of the otaku. In the evening, I specially invited him to eat claypot rice with wax sauce that I was reluctant to eat myself.

I squatted on the seat that originally belonged to him, and patiently dragged the downloaded songs together with the scrolling lyrics into the memory card one by one with the mouse. He sat next to me with his legs crossed. With an unyielding leg hair, he chewed the rice in his mouth, and asked, "What do you listen to?"

I put the earphones on him, and randomly clicked on the title song of a certain album. He took off the earphones after listening for less than a minute, his greasy face was full of disbelief, "Can you understand this?"

"Listen more and you will understand."

He shook his head, "Brother can't appreciate his age... what's so good about it?"

I thank him from the bottom of my heart for not saying outright "what the hell is this".I explained, "It's HardcoreRap, hardcore rap."

"Oh, oh, kind of cool." He asked again, "Do you want to be a singer?"

I typed on the keyboard and shrugged my nose in disapproval, "Yeah, what's the matter."

"All right, brat, brother, I'll wait for you to make a fortune," he showed a little praise, even though I knew he wasn't serious, "Don't forget the people who are suffering."

The otaku was full of wine and food, and took a toothpick in his mouth, but his gaze was erratic and far-reaching, with the taste of an outsider.I know he is looking at a big sister in a miniskirt outside the door. I have seen her two or three times. The clothes are not the same each time. The only thing in common is short and revealing. She gives a massage to a corner family with a small pink light bulb on room soliciting.

"People have dreams," the otaku sighed, and rubbed my head with his big hands that smelled of tobacco and motor oil. "Whether it's a girl or money, you have to have something to look forward to, otherwise how can you live?"