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Chapter 117 The Narrow Gate

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    Every time I come to r square, I will get lost, and it is useless to use the navigation, especially on such a heavy rainy day.

    Navigating this thing does not work from time to time, it seems to depend on its mood.

    North, south, east and west are never clear.  sense of direction?  nonexistent.

    I don't like asking for directions, and I am often asked for directions. I feel guilty when I don't know the answer, so I don't want to disturb others easily.

    I saw a cafe with a small facade on the side of the road, only a small window was opened, but there was a long row of people sitting under the eaves of the promenade in front of the door.  A girl in a light lavender T-shirt poked her head out from inside, smiling, "Our coffee beans are great, do you want to try it?"

    Beans sorted by origin, I picked the sweeter Brazilian beans, and the person behind me chose Colombian beans.

    I put away my umbrella and went to sit under the eaves, and sat in a long row with passers-by, men and women, whom I didn¡¯t know.

    In such a long row, no one spoke, those who looked at their mobile phones, those who were in a daze, those who listened to music, were immersed in their own thoughts.

    After a long time, the girl in the light purple t-shirt came out with two cups of coffee, muttering something to herself all the way, when she came to me and another customer, she was still taken aback, gestured with her left and right hands, and then smiled  , handed me the glass in my right hand, "This should be yours, from Brazil." Then handed the glass in my left hand to the person beside me.

    I took a sip, and the sour taste was obviously heavy, obviously not Brazilian beans.  Looking up at her bright expression, she returned a smile, "Thank you."

    She walks away, smiling broadly.

    Then I turned to look at the man next to me, who had just finished his first sip, looked at me and smiled.  I understood that smile in seconds: this little girl gave it wrong, the coffee in your hand is mine.

    However, after drinking all of them, there is nothing to say, and each is immersed in tasting.

    It doesn't matter which tree the beans are on.  When he laughs, he still looks like Ling Meixiang, and he can't bear to bother him.  (Remember the site URL: www.hlnovel.com
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