Autumn has arrived, dyeing the golden afternoon brightly in every corner of ancient Hanoi.

This year the seasons change too slowly. It's as if autumn is old so we're late for appointments, the old times still hurt over the past summer. It's as if the person is old so he's too busy thinking about it, not thinking too much about autumn.

Vietnam took a long drag of pipe tobacco, staring at the linden tree that had bloomed purple flowers all over the summer across the bustling main street, its buds gradually fading. He was lost from the bustling, dusty streets, munching on a bit of romance that autumn brought to him.

But today, the medicine is tasteless and bitter. Unable to adventure. It was clear that his mind was not on a single strip of cloud floating indifferently in the blue sky, but was still pulled down to the ground by the noise on the sidewalk, not allowing his dreams to fly away. But Vietnam just stood there dumbfounded. He kept thinking about something, but he didn't ignore it.

The cup of black coffee has gradually seen the bottom. His mouth was dry from smoking so much, but he still couldn't finish the last sip to his satisfaction.

Well, for him, coffee is for sipping and enjoying, not for quenching thirst.

“So, how was you life?”