Chapter 4 third chapter

I tossed and turned, fell asleep for a while and then became anxious about trivial matters. I fell asleep and woke up several times, until I saw the dazzling sunlight penetrating the curtains, and gave up the unnecessary struggle.Besides, both my body and my bike need a good check. I took a shower, a hot shower this time, and checked my injuries.I bent my knees and elbows, and although it hurt, I didn't make a crunching sound.I need activity activity.I guess the weather should be fine today, a good day for going outside. Right now, I'm fine in the kitchen alone.I made myself a pot of coffee and cut up a grapefruit.While the porridge was still cooking on the stove, I went into the garden to visit my little vegetable patch.I hadn't grown anything before, except mustard and cress growing out of blotting paper as a kid; however, earlier this year I decided to grow my own food on a whim.I went to a yard sale and bought a shovel, a trowel, and a watering can—good, cheap, near-new gardening equipment that had apparently been stolen from someone who had forgotten to lock up their garden shed.What else could Hackney's junk auction sell?But I put my booty to good use, marking out a long rectangular area in the overgrown land, and working my heart out to cultivate this fertile soil.Many ancient coins and pieces of pottery found during the digging were picked up and placed on top of the chest of drawers in the bedroom.This garden unexpectedly brought me a lot of sense of accomplishment.Backaches, blisters on my palms, dirt under my fingernails, I enjoy it all.Davy was kind enough to share the digging with me, but I wanted to do it all myself.I grow zucchini, fava beans, lettuce, beetroot and arugula and even potatoes have their own raised beds.The other roommates used to take it upon me, but the strong shoots emerging from the ground proved it all.Almost every morning and evening, I go to the garden to take care of the plants.This morning, as I was thinking about planting some sweet corn or butternut squash for soup next year, I remembered that next year I won't be living here, and I won't even be able to wait until harvest time this year.At harvest time, it will be Miles and Leah who will pick the vegetables I tend to and enjoy the fruits of my labor.

Just as I was enjoying my second cup of coffee, Pipa walked into the kitchen.She is ready for work in a white shirt and soft gray suit.And besides her was a man in a floral shirt, leather jacket, and black trousers, with that familiar expression on his face, the usual shyness and pride of a man in the morning.Under her introduction, I learned that the man's name was Jeff.He sat at the table across from me and asked me if he could have a cup of coffee too. I was dumbfounded, not knowing how to respond.The pipa is too powerful.How on earth did she do it?Where did she give birth to such a character?Although I don't remember what time I left her room, I do remember that she was alone in the room.Somehow she conjures this guy up in the middle of the night and sneaks him into bed.

Hi Jeff, my words disintegrate into staccato stammers, how did you get from where? We had an appointment for a drink, Pipa said cheerfully, so I said he might as well come here.Then it was getting late, well, you know I don't know, I said, Pipa, I want to ask you a professional question. how? Legally, does Miles really have the right to kick us out?Aren't we legitimate tenants? I have no idea.she says. Are you not a lawyer? Are you a lawyer?Jeff asked. Yes, sweetheart, Pipa said, drink up the coffee quickly.She glanced back at me.But that doesn't mean I know everything.I'll look it up or ask someone else.But don't bring lawyers into this.That's the only lesson I've learned.

I nodded to Pipa and said goodbye to Jeff politely, thinking that I would never see him again.I called Campbell in the office and he said it would be no problem to borrow a bike from the company for a few days.I just go to the office in Clarkville and pick it up.Anyway, I must have been the only bike courier in all of London not riding to work that morning.I commute to work on the subway in a neon yellow top, tight Lycra shorts, and a hard hat on my knees.Even if I were to wear a scarlet coat and breeches, it would be no funnier than it is now. I hardly ever set foot in an office before.It was just a cubicle where Campbell and his assistant, Bex, took orders and phoned couriers, and it was filthy, littered with cardboard boxes, unwashed coffee cups, and unfiled papers.

Got into a fight with your lover?Campbell asked as I walked into the office. Hit by a car door.I said. Are you really all right? When I saw the bicycle he was about to borrow from me, everything suddenly changed from nothing to nothing.Campbell saw my indecision.That bike is nice.He said. At least no one will try to steal it, I muttered, so where's the first stop? He stared at the clipboard.Want to go to Watteau Street and then to Camton Township? All I want is you, Campbell, I said sarcastically, and took the piece of paper he handed out, now that I have finally seen the true face of Lushan in the office, I will definitely remember not to come if I can.Maybe see you later at the bar.

It was a pleasant day, unlike January when it was wet and cold and dark before four o'clock in the afternoon, and August when you could only breathe heat and car fumes.Although the sun is shining brightly, it is slightly chilly, and the traffic on the road is smooth, which makes me feel relaxed and happy.I crossed the whole of London in a straight line, and after Camden Town, I followed Charlotte Street to Maida Vale, and then from Soho to London Iron Bridge.On the return trip, I spent a lot of money buying exotic sandwiches at the Boluo Market.Then I crossed the river to Old Street, and rode a long straight from there to Notting Hill Gate.Finally, on my way back to town, I stopped at St James's Park for a sandwich and a bottle of water.Back in criss-cross London, I was in and out of photo labs, advertising agencies, editing rooms, law firms, and companies that had been knocking on their doors for months without knowing or needing to know what drugs were in their gourds .

Sometimes I feel like I'm lugging a heavy bag on the back of my bike, but today it was so much easier.The accident apparently did me no lasting harm.My aching limbs gradually loosened. By the evening, I had ridden more than a hundred kilometers, but I was still full of energy. Only my thighs and calves felt pleasant pain.On the way home, I stopped at the Horse and Jockey, a bar exclusively for bike couriers.Motorbike couriers met in the Crown Bar at the south end of Oxford Street.They were numerous, all bearded men in black leather coats.They would gather on the sidewalk to whistle at passing women and discuss camshafts or other parts that make up motorcycles.

Our group of bicycle couriers sees each other as the more sensitive species.For members who have survived to this day, our bodies must be much healthier.When I arrived at the bar, my companions who were already inside raised their beer bottles and gave a small cheer.They came around and looked at my bruises and scrapes and said it was nothing serious.Then the conversation turned serious, and we talked about the future of the business, gossip, gossip, and of course bad things about customers.We look up to our customers for calling, but that doesn't mean we have to look up to them.Most of our customers are company names, but we also cooperate with a few families, some of whom are wealthy, thousands of times richer than ordinary people, and it is commonplace to call us to send us.There's an unwritten competition among bike couriers to see who can land the most ridiculous jobs.For several days in a row, I delivered the lunch box that the child had forgotten from Primrose Hill to the private girls' high school in the West End.A courier claimed to have cycled to Notting Hill Gate in the rain to pick up an umbrella before delivering it to Fortnan and Masons.This job also gives us the opportunity to see the real face of the famous mansion.A courier suggested a game we could play: five points for seeing a private movie theater, ten points for a fountain, and fifty points for an indoor pool.

Just as a courier named Danny was stalking him with a client, my cell phone rang, saving me from his bombardment of bullshit.The call was from David. I'm in the jockey bar and I say come out? The bar is in the middle of town, good for parties, Pipa, David or Owen will come to see me every now and then, trying to fit in with our group of lithe, supple, bronzed, lightly dressed, and generally fit, godlike couriers member. No, he said, I'm at home.You better come back. What's wrong? No no no, he said, nothing.This matter has nothing to do with us.It's just dramatic. I sauntered home on my bike, enjoying the amber sunset and the cool air on my skin.As I turned onto Maitland Road, reminding myself not to have another stupid accident in front of my house, I almost ran head-on into a police car at the same spot as yesterday.The sidewalk a few houses away from our house was blocked off with police tape, and several officers, men and women, were busy running around.A police officer standing next to a police car looked bored.

What happened?I asked. Darling, please move forward. But I live on this street. It's over. no matter what? Just go forward. I reluctantly complied.Something happened almost at my house. I wanted to know the inside story, but the police gave me a few hygienic glances. I couldn't think of an excuse to leave, so I obediently pushed my bicycle along the sidewalk to go home. I walked into the entryway and saw Dalio standing on a ladder, painting roses around the lamp.I leaned Campbell's bike against the wall.It's no wonder that you don't fall down when you ride this kind of bike.He said.

Only riding today, I said, what's going on outside? A few hours earlier, there had been more cops there, he said, filling cars and ambulances. What happened? I don't know very well, he said, I've been staying at home.Just heard that someone was robbed. was murdered.Someone answered behind me. I turn around.It was Mike.murder?I said, no way!What is going on? Someone was robbed in the street and later silenced.That person must have tried to resist.There are enough fucking idiots. Dalio grinned down at me.Yesterday Estelle crashed a car, today someone was killed.The area is becoming more and more uneven. Good thing we're about to get kicked out, right?As I spoke, I raised my head and looked at Dalio suspiciously.How long have you been renovating the house? I don't know either.He said. Are you colluding with Miles? I?He said.What benefit do I get from this? Who knows how that weird head of yours turns.I said.