"Sir, are you listening to me?" the man in the small restaurant beckoned to Han Fei, "The meat will still take a while to cook, leave me your address, and I will have it delivered to your doorstep."
"I said I'd wait here, why so much talk?" Han Fei's thoughts were interrupted, he stared at the man's simple face; if not for his memory far exceeding that of an ordinary person, he wouldn't remember the man at all.
"Okay, okay, just wait here then." The simple and robust man seemed a microcosm of a certain group of people, engaging in the heaviest physical labor, with little scheming, giving the most but receiving the least, struggling at the bottom of the dilapidated Old City District, facing disdain everywhere, and enduring the pain of dignity being trampled upon.
The dim light beside the wooden sign flickered, the chef wiped his hands with a dirty cloth, then took a sharp spike and headed toward the back kitchen.
