There is a two-story building on the side of the alley where Jinu lives selling milk. The first floor window is nailed with iron bars. The wet wall of the plaster was rusted and brown spots were everywhere. The goddess Carnes was painted on the curtain made of American cloth. In addition to me, there is also a living creature, lizard, renting a room on the first floor. It differs from me in that it is not lacking in food.
I am the youngest instrument in the business hall, with a monthly salary of 25 rupees. After work, counsel the children of the "Dart" caste to review their homework, and the reward is a light meal. Then go to Seyalda Station to kill the dusk and save the cost of lighting. I heard the sound of the jingle, the whistle, the snoring of the passengers, the shouts of the coolies... It was only ten and a half minutes before I returned to the black and cold place.
My aunt's village is located on the banks of the Daleswali River, and her niece has a marriage with my life-stricken person. The pro-Kyrgyz period is in the embarrassment, and my crime of "making a chaos" is revealed, and I have to flee. The bride got rid of the "disaster" and I did the same.
The bride failed to step into the bridal chamber, but went in and out of my heart every day. She is wrapped in a Dakar silk sari, and her eyebrows are a huge auspicious cockroach.
Recently, the rainy weather, tram fares have risen, but the salary has been deducted. In the corner of the alley, the skin core of the durian and mango, the fins, the body of the kitten, the ash... are piled up and rotted.
The current state of the old umbrella. I use is quite similar to the salary of seven buckles. The only ornament in the dull atmosphere of the office is the witticism of the optimist Kubicon, who worships the great god Vishnu.
The black shadow of the slutty sneaked into the wet chamber, like a trapped beast of a fallen trap, and was unconscious. Day and night, I feel tied up with the dead world.
Mr. Ganda, who lives in the alley, has a wavy black hair and a pair of big eyes that are carefully combed, and his character is bold and he loves to play the flute. The midnight of silence, the dawn of the night, the afternoon of light and shadow, the turbid air of the alley, often lingering his flute. One evening, he blew the gloomy "Xingdu", "Balua, the tune, and the hollowness filled with the immortal separation. In an instant, the alleys were like the sorrowful slang of the drunkard. I am steep. I feel that I, the poor instrument Harry Pat, is no different from the Mughal emperor Agbar. The broken umbrella and the Huagai flew to the heavens along with the whistle of the flute.
This flute sounds especially a moving place, flowing through the Dales Valley River. Endless dusk, in the shade of the black palm of the river, in the vegetable garden, she is waiting, wrapped in Dakar silk sari, a huge auspicious between the eyebrows.