The display screen on the desk was glowing with a blue and white light, which made the melon seed shells in the keyboard cracks look three-pointed. Since I left the school in the year of Gengzi, it has been four years since I was in the cold and heat. In the past four years, it seems that someone has been pressed into the mud and has been pickled, and the flesh and flesh are wrinkled when taken out.
At that time, I always thought I wanted to write some earth-shaking procedures, as neatly as Runtu pierced under the moonlight. Unexpectedly, the workplace was originally an iron house, and the sound of typing on the keyboard was very similar to the sound of nails in a coffin shop. My colleagues all became puppets, climbing on Git day after day, like fireflies in the graves on summer nights, emitting some useless light. My .NET technology has gradually rusted, and new technologies are coming like a tide, pouring back into my nose, making me cough.
I met a girl in the autumn of the past year, and her eyebrows were like water chestnuts in my hometown. She said that when I typed the code, I was like a judge in the temple, so I wrote all my feelings into binary and hid them in commit. Later, she thought I was too much like an old hard drive, and she always made a buzzing whine when reading. On the night of the breakup, the moonlight shone the asphalt road into a galaxy, and her back looked like bytes emptied by the garbage recycling bin.
Now curled up in a rental house of ten square meters, I heard the roar of the air conditioner's external unit coughing. The pot of green ivy on the windowsill lives more decent than me, at least the leaves know toward the light. My mother always said on the phone that Ah Mao next door had bought a house in the county town, but I couldn't even catch the exception thrown by the compiler. Sometimes I stared at the vast crowd in the subway, and I felt like we were all packages returned by the times, with a scarlet stamp "No such person" posted on the address bar.
The day before yesterday, I passed by the west gate of the university, and there were several green faces floating in the grilled cold noodle smoke. They held the milk tea and laughed, and the undry moonlight was still stained with the lapels. I suddenly remembered that on the night of graduation, when I threw my bachelor's hat into the starry sky, I thought I could catch the entire Milky Way. Now that the brim of the hat has long been covered in dust, it is because of cervical spondylosis that comes to work on time.
The calendar turned to the end of the year again, and the cold wind was full of garbled characters on the glass window. I added a handful of wolfberry to the thermos and heard the whimpering sound of traffic downstairs. Maybe you should go to Yonghe Palace to burn incense? Or should I submit my resume to a certain cloud in the south? The New Year's countdown pops up in the lower right corner of the screen, and the code line statistician faithfully displays: in the past four years, a total of 5.368,000 keyboard taps - this number is even more decent than the deposit balance.
The midnight bell is about to ring. When I closed the computer, I saw that the chassis indicator light was still flashing stubbornly, like a phosphorus fire that refused to extinguish on the wasteland.