This is the case with literary films, cleverly avoiding the inherent pain.
The three of them looked at each other with endless elegance. A clever child, an elegant man, a concierge with a sentiment that can only be accommodated by a thousand books.
Then open each other, each open each other. But the fact is, each has its own misfortune.
When you are about to die, life will reach out and hold your hand. "Is it destined? Or can I be what I can be?"
When you are ready to love, death is always leaning forward.
Useless is affectionate.
If you can’t make a decent face, is it because you haven’t practiced enough, or is the mask not thick enough?
Tenderness is an advantage, but it is always a weakness when you rest on your body. The concierge can live to 54 years old simply because he found a reasonable hiding place.
But the porter always has to go out. Even if I didn't say it later. Even the Japanese may be a serial murder demon.
Maybe the little girl gets smoothed out when she grows up.
But the porter still has to go out.
Think about it this way, there is nothing wrong with being hit by a car.
If I lay there, no matter how ugly the posture, whether it was bloody face or urinary incontinence, it would be easier. Some people are just stupid. Even if he has been a concierge for a lifetime, the mask is brisk when he is hit.
Like a bird.
View more about The Hedgehog reviews
