yellow sorghum

This bar is called "Thecolour", and it is located in a bustling neighborhood in Melbourne. The owner of the bar is Liam's cousin who is lying on the toilet seat, delirious and twitching. The skinny Yu Minglang could actually beat him like this with one punch. He opened his eyes and his chest heaved slightly, listening to the sound of rushing water coming from his ears, and the "da" and "da" leaving without haste. The sound of footsteps, when he wakes up a little bit, he is the only one left in the toilet, and Yu Minglang's figure can't be seen anywhere.

He shook his head, got up from the ground with difficulty, supported the toilet with his hands, looked at the slightly yellowed edge, with a disgusted expression on his face.

"Fuck," Liam cursed in a low voice, it hurts even to move his cheeks now, Yu Minglang's bones protruded again, punching him was not just for fun, he pressed his tongue against his teeth, it seemed to be loose some.

From the ground to sitting on the toilet seat, it took him half a minute!

"Liam, Liam?"

The sound insulation of the toilet is good, but you can still hear the loud music outside. Liam thought he heard it wrong. He drank alcohol and was hit on the head again. He was not so clear for a while, thinking that he had an auditory hallucination. The person called twice again: "Liam?"

The person who called him was getting closer and closer, and he could even hear the door of the toilet next door being roughly pushed open. Liam lay there on his back, with his head resting on the tiles, pulling a roll of toilet paper hanging on the wall , Wiping the nosebleed indiscriminately.

A red-haired young man appeared in his sight, wearing a gray sweater, with a look of astonishment on his face. The young man was named James, and he was one of the fellows. His hand was still on the doorknob of the toilet. When he saw Liam, he was startled. Jump.

James hurriedly opened the door, and supported Liam with his hand: "God, how did you get into this?"

Liam grinned at him, his exposed teeth still stained with blood, and he sat up next to James' hand, finding a comfortable angle to motion him not to move.

James pulled another handful of paper over his nose, and Liam gasped in pain. He asked, "How did this happen? Didn't you come in..."

The next few words were ambiguous and profound, Liam knew what he was going to say, and touched the wall with his finger. Just below James' arm, there was a stream of milk-like liquid, still dripping down.

James' eyes widened, and he moved away from that place for an instant. How could he not know what it was? He threw the paper on Liam's body and shitted twice: "I almost ran into it, you know?"

Liam pulled his head down, and kissed the young man's red lips, where there was still the sweetness of beer, he licked it twice, then put his head on the man's neck, and asked him: "Yu, where?"

James snorted twice, he turned his head around, wanted to kiss Liam, and replied vaguely: "Just left, I have something to say, he said you were in the toilet, let me come to you."

Liam didn't refuse either. He has always been a person who would not refuse anyone. Of course he would be happy if someone threw himself into his arms. As soon as he stretched out his hand, he wrapped his arms around the young man's waist, pressed him on his lap, and rubbed against James with his own burning heat. legs.

James laughed twice, grabbed Liam's hair with his hands, and breathed with his mouth open. When Liam put his lips on his neck, he suddenly said to Liam: "Don't make up your mind, his father is not A nice guy."

Liam's movements paused for a moment, and Yu Minglang's drunken hazy eyes suddenly flashed in his mind. They seemed to be filled with a puddle of water, seductive, as if they wanted to suck people in, and he suddenly felt helpless. There was a sense of irritability, and he bit James' collarbone, as if complaining: "Isee, the Chinese are the trouble."

Translation: Got it, the Chinese are trouble.

Yu Minglang hugged his coat and walked out of the bar. There were a few bartenders at the entrance of the bar, standing staggered and chatting. He walked out and hung his coat on his arm. It is now December and it is Melbourne. In early summer, the coat in his hand was no longer needed, Yu Minglang looked up at the sky, it was already dark, and it was estimated that it was around eight o'clock, which would be five o'clock in the afternoon in China.

He took out his cell phone from his pocket and took a look. Sure enough, in another hour and a half, Yu Zhengyan would call him. This is a weekly call. On every Friday night, his 09: At around 30, although he couldn't say much, Yu Zhengyan would still call him without interrupting once, just like when he was a child, he would hug him into the seat before dinner without feeling tired.

The house Yu Zhengyan bought for him was not far from here, just three blocks away. Before he went to the apartment, he suddenly wanted to buy some drinks to go home. There was a 24-hour supermarket downstairs, which was very convenient.

When he was walking back with the plastic bag, he suddenly heard someone calling from the opposite side, across the road from him, and the voice was not so loud. It is normal to make a phone call, but the person used it. He spoke pure Chinese. The moment the familiar language was heard in his ears, he stopped in his tracks, and his eyes drifted to that place involuntarily. In foreign countries, except for the aunt at home, he rarely listened outside. When someone speaks in Chinese, it is probably because there are not many Chinese in his neighborhood.

Meeting old acquaintances in a foreign land is something that every Chinese will be happy about, but Yu Minglang just stood on one side of the street, quietly looking at the person on the other side, the caller should be a Chinese youth, wearing a black hooded sweater , there are white letters in front, spelling "good", he is standing under the street lamp, his figure is slender and tall, his shadow is pulled long, Yu Minglang can't see that person's face clearly, because he buttoned the hoodie cap on the Above his head, the shadow cast by the street lamp happened to hit his face, and he could only vaguely see the outline, but the overall look was very good.

That person kept saying "um" and "ah", without saying a few words, Yu Minglang only felt that his voice was pleasant, and every sound was like his fingers tapping on the piano, hitting his heart, he couldn't help but feel more stood for a while.

The aunt at home came down to take out the trash, and saw Yu Minglang standing at the door like a pillar.

When the aunt put the garbage in the bucket, she called him: "Young master?"

Yu Minglang came back to his senses and responded.

The aunt took the plastic bag in his hand: "Why don't you go back and stand here?"

Yu Minglang smiled: "I bought something."

Auntie walked in front of him, talking to him in a rambling manner, when Yu Minglang turned his head again, there was no one under the street lamp, and there was a lonely trash can under the dim light.

He thought, it's not easy to meet a Chinese here, because he can tell that the Mandarin spoken by that person is very standard.

Sure enough, not long after going back, the pointer just pointed to thirty, and the aunt handed him the phone and said to him: "Master, sir is calling."

Yu Minglang was still opening the refrigerator, with one hand resting on top of the refrigerator and the other taking the phone.

The author has something to say:

Punch~