Chapter 572

At two in the afternoon, Wesley went down the street.

Sawdust black bread? Burnt mud black bread? Or crushed black bread?

The gentleman in the dress is choosing today's dinner in front of the bakery.

His dress is very old, old but clean. Patches with indistinct color difference are used in conspicuous places, and inconspicuous places are very casual.

But the dress is at least a full set, with holes in the tips of swallow tails, waistcoats, breeches, shirts and leather boots, and only half of the ribbon of the top hat.

Such people are not uncommon in Boston and even in the whole United States. They were also young people who came to the new world with ambition. They finally lost in the hands of reality. While living in the present, they could not put down the dignity and dreams of the past.

In short, ordinary.

A carriage stopped at the street corner, and a bright gentleman jumped out of it. He was tall and strong with a long umbrella.

He picked up a beautiful red haired woman from the car. They snuggled together, passed by their husband intimately, stepped onto the long street and walked away.

Like every competent man, Mr. Zhang watched the beauty go away until the curve in his eyes was no longer clear, and then he bowed his head.

"Men who wear women's clothes, women born for men's clothes... The world is strange."

He wrote down today's dinner on the buffet list, took off the saw beside the shelf, skillfully sawed off a small piece of sawdust bread, took it in his hand, and walked slowly to the counter scale.

"70 grams of bread, a penny, thank you." the sloppy store manager took the money and pushed the self-service order and bread to the waiter. The waiter skillfully wrapped the paper bag, handed it out, threw the money into the money box and put the self-service order into his pocket.

"Store manager, I'll take a shit," the man said.

"Don't go to the back door of old GERT's house. His wife stepped on shit yesterday and scolded all night."

"Yes, go to the side door today."

The lazy waiter came out of the back door, bypassed the two neighbors, went to the old GERT's tavern, which was very difficult to deal with the store manager, looked around, whistled and squeezed into the dark lane where the side door was located.

The so-called dark alley, of course, is a broken alley.

Outsiders rarely know that there are lanes in the middle of the houses down the street, but for those shops that live by traffic, the width of the pavement determines how many people they can receive at the same time. Therefore, the alley was artificially enclosed and became a part of the store on the side facing the street.

The dark lane is dirty and messy.

Old GERT's Tavern focuses on low-quality mixed water and alcohol. The other end of the side door is directly connected to the tavern hall. The night here is as lively as the street. During the day, there are dead ghosts and occasionally dead bodies.

The man stepped on a lying meat like no one else, picked a good place and moistened the soil soundly.

After finishing the internal work, he took out today's self-service list from his pocket and stood up after finishing the external work. He found that there was still one left in another pocket.

"Oh, go back..." he threw away the list and whistled again.

The whistle turned out of the alley, and one of the lying meat moved.

The drunkard reached out and groped on the ground. Several times, he narrowly grabbed the gift from the man, and fortunately avoided it. Again and again, he finally found a comfortable starting point.

Pop!

The bus clapped its hands on the rotten ground of the alley, grabbed it with five fingers and supported it with one arm, supported the drunkard and stood upright against the wall.

He gave a limp hiccup and looked suspiciously at the note he caught when he held up his eyes.

"Lucky!" he smiled, he smiled, "there was still wine stored last night, and the wine list hasn't been lost, lucky, la... Burp! I went home."

The drunk stuffed the note into his pocket, staggered out of the dark lane, turned three or two, and walked into the fence of a wooden house away from the main street.

A young man in a waiter's uniform came up and held him: "Uncle Ralph! Really, you're drinking again!"

"Xiao Les! Ha ha! Xiao Les is going to work again to earn his uncle's wine money and his uncle's wine money..."

He danced wildly with wine. A crumpled piece of paper flew out of his pocket, smashed it on LES's forehead and fell into Les's arms.

Les angrily pushed the drunkard to the ground, unfolded the note and looked at it: "you still brought the wine list back! The family can't afford bread!"

"There is wine, ha ha, bread is not important..."

"Bread is not important, wine is not important!" little Les took out a lighter from his uniform, lit the note in front of the drunk and fell to the ground.

The drunkard screamed and jumped on it. He went crazy with the fire. He seemed to put a note in his mouth and chew it.

"The fire is out... Burp... Out, you can drink again..."

"May God drown you with wine! I'm going to work!"

Leaving his uncle who could not be redeemed, Les quickly walked out of the house and walked up the empty streets.

He soon came to the crosswalk, crossed Wesley street along the crosswalk, turned into the upper side of the street, and walked into Lundi cafe with the selling point of "appreciating poverty and feeling life happiness".

"Manager, I'm working!" Les reported.

"Little rice..." the friendly store manager poked out his head, "outside, order at table 3."

"I'll go at once!"

Les trotted out of the gate and went straight to table No. 3 close to the alley. On the table was a middle-aged painter alone, who was concentrating on sketching across the alley.

Les glanced at it and saw that the painting was not finished, but the corner of the drawing board had been named, [lowness], humble.

The painter keenly noticed his eyes: "young man, do you want to learn painting?"

"No, sir." Les took out his order. "What would you like to drink?"

"A latte, two puffs..."

A group of dirty children ran past the fence, laughing and shouting.

The painter covered his nose in displeasure and looked up to see Les writing hard.

"I need to write so many words for what I ordered?" the painter wondered.

"No one's life is easy, sir." Les stopped writing and collected the order. "Please wait a moment and leave."

He opened the shop door and just heard a noise not far away.

A red haired beauty in men's clothes came across the street with a tall gentleman on her arm, and intimately walked down the street to the street.

"Order... Hurry up."

Les went into the shop and muttered to himself. He threw the order list into the bar. The barista took a look at the list and asked softly, "are the guests in a hurry?"

"Always hurry up."

The barista tore off the order and turned it into the back kitchen. Shua Shua wrote a wine list and handed it to his assistant chef: "the wine of Irish coffee is used up. Go to Lucas winery opposite to ask for a bottle. Hurry up, the guests are in a hurry."

“AYA！”

The kitchen assistant answered and ran across the main street into Lucas winery as fast as possible: "Mr. Lucas, the teacher wants a bottle of Irish whisky. Here is the wine list. Please hurry up!"

"A bottle of Irish whisky, isn't it..." Lucas took the wine list and turned to take the wine. "Irish whisky... Ireland... The cabinet is sold out."

"Then... What should I do!"

"Don't worry!" Lucas laughed. "As long as it's home wine, there's private goods. I'll get it upstairs for you now."

"Please! Hurry up!"

"Well, well, anxious little fellow, your Mr. Lucas is always fast. Like this, very fast, very fast..."