I.
Iāve lived this kind of hundred-day life twenty-seven times. I remember it very clearly.
Many peopleās lives have a limit; theyāre one long book of qin scores, with spring nights and autumn winds, with birth and age and illness and death.
Iām not like that.
My time shackles me, and it also overlooks me ā from March 2016 to June 2016, Iāve been continually looping through time. Iām waiting for someone. His name is He Zhi.
Ā
II.
Iām called Ji Mao, English name Jimmy. ItĀ sounds like the name of a hair stylist, and I actually am a hair stylist.
March 1, 2016, at 7:37am, the one who sleeps on the top bunk, Danny, will be next to my bed, pushing on my shoulder and telling me, āChicken feathers, time to get up for work.ā
I really donāt like other people calling me chicken feathers.
Ā
Although there is no way of knowing, I can guarantee that Ji Mao exercised too much on February 28th, so thatās why my entire body aches when waking up on March 1st. Every time Iām woken up by Danny, I canāt help but say, āFuck, itās too early.ā
Tonight at 8:19pm, He Zhi will come to the hair salon where I work.
Ā
On deliberate choice on the authorās part.
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