Customs Officer: Come here and open the red box. It needs to be checked. Petroleum Worker: Oh, here’s the box. Look at it for yourself. Customs Officer: Please open it. Oilman: Didn’t you see it when you broke the lock? The policewoman unzipped the box and opened it. Customs Officer: Break the lock? I don’t know. If we want to move your box here
The absurd life fears that the derogatory meaning has not begun to find the end time, the place, the vanishing hypocrisy, the pitiful fear and the helpless numbness of a heart worrying and indifferent, deeply sighing for the usefulness of the unexpected harvest, but not surprise my selfishness, but find the reason, just do not want to dig no way I like the mystery I used to a mystery. The fog hasn’t cleared up yet.