I always think that there is a fixed oriental fantasy in the West. The philosophers are immortal, and they will turn into stars at the end of their years. The heart beats several times a year and rushes to the waterfall.
Ah, I'm sorry, Teacher Tong Hu.
The films that Uncle Ni comes in are all of the same tune. A middle-class American male, his family does not match his six parents, his work is not satisfactory, and his life seems to be unsatisfactory, but the problem lies in himself. Keeping a low profile and cultivating both inside and outside, life is relieved.
So it's been rotten.
How far is the third world? Haagen-Dazs so far.
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