The road, asphalt, so long, stretched to the horizon. Clouds floated above, changing, rapidly.
He knew him three and a half years ago, sleeping together on the streets, making a living together, and doing the most shameful and despicable things. Male prostitutes, thieves, robbers.
He accompanies him to find his mother and piece together clues little by little. On the way, he had hallucinations, he confessed to him, he said he loved him.
And he said, "You know, I'm having sex with men, just for money."
So he sat on the ground and buried his head in his knees, shaking all over. When I saw this, I was always worried that his epilepsy was going to happen again.
His mother never found, but he found his wife, he said to him "I think I'm in love."
They parted. This is not the saddest thing, the saddest thing is that he finally became a 'normal person', not because he married a wife, but because he inherited his father's business and returned to the mainstream society, and he was living on the streets and degraded just to humiliate the enjoyment Powerful father, how ridiculous.
He was inside the bar, in a suit and leather shoes, holding his wife and negotiating with a person of status.
He was outside the bar, in ragged clothes, in a corner in the cold wind, hugging himself.
They were separated like they had never been together.
The road is still so long, until there is no end to the horizon, and the sky is changing.
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