"Damn it! What do you know? What era is this? Still talking about being scary or supernatural. You must be out of your mind in the middle of the night."
The curtain of the rental house was made of cheap gray - green fabric. After pulling it, the whole room was like a storage box thrown to the bottom of the water, and even the air felt heavy. He was lying reclined on the folding sofa made up by putting the bed and the floor together. His right hand was holding a laptop, and his left hand was grasping a bag of spicy strips with only two left.
What was lit up in front of the screen was a page he was all too familiar with - the comment section.
He didn't watch the videos or click on the original post content. He only read the comments and then started to lash out. If someone sounded sentimental, he would retort; if someone was spreading anxiety, he would mock with "Where did you get this delusion of being a top - notch university graduate?" Occasionally, when someone said "It's easy to turn things around by myself", he would say "You've read too many internet feel - good stories".
In the online world, he had a thousand tones and ten thousand ways of sarcasm, but in reality, he only had one expression: confusion.
He wasn't venting his anger, but trying to confirm that he was still alive.
This city was too fast - paced and too quiet at the same time. He had graduated for three months, sent out more than eighty resumes, but only received five replies, all of which were rejections. Last month, he was still fantasizing about becoming a data assistant, but now no one was willing to take him even as a coffee shop apprentice.
"Short of experience, not suitable."
"The current position is full."
"It is recommended that you accumulate some social experience before coming."
"You need to obtain a certificate first, classmate. Without a certificate, you can't attend the interview."
"But I wasn't told to get a certificate when I was at school."
"This is the company's regulation. I'll send you a link to the certificate exam. You'll understand after reading it."
Sighing, he helplessly clicked on the link and started to look. Registering, logging in, signing up, and then a notice caught his attention - Examination Instructions: Candidates need to submit a 2 - year working certificate in the relevant industry in advance. The full name of the unit should be provided in the certificate, and it should be stamped with the official seal...
"Damn! You're just making a fool of me! You need a certificate to get a job, and you need to be employed first to get a certificate. This jerk is playing tricks on me. I'll give you a piece of my mind and wish your whole family good health and a long life!"
This series of greetings starting with verbs and ending with references to parents was blocked in his throat by the dimmed chat box before he could let it out. No matter how much he clicked on the input box, it didn't work. He refreshed his phone several times unwillingly, and the result was obvious.
"Ah! Ah! Ah! Ah! Ah! Aaaah! I'm so angry!"
Park Ge was in a rage for a while, but was interrupted by the sound of the second - hand landlord upstairs knocking on the floor - "Dong! Dong! Dong! If you f*cking keep screaming, pack your things and get out!"
After the scolding, the rental room was filled with a deathly silence. Park Ge had no choice but to swallow his anger. In confusion, his eyes swept over the mirror pasted on the door. In the mirror, Park Ge looked haggard. He was wearing a dark - green short - sleeved shirt on the upper body, red quick - drying knee - length shorts on the lower body, with long hair messily hanging over his ears. His turbid eyes were full of bloodshot. Back in school, some people even called him "Park Zunlong", but now...
After experiencing countless polite yet cold rejections, Park Ge had also learned to politely let himself go. The room he rented was originally a converted storage room. There was no window, only an old - fashioned and poorly - maintained ceiling fan. The musty smell in the corner had a fermented bitter taste, much like the dreams he brought out from school without achieving his diploma.
He didn't smoke, but often at midnight, he would open the search engine and look up "What is the root cause of insomnia" or "How to tell if I'm already depressed".
He never dared to look too deeply, for fear that if he understood, he would really be sick.
At half past eleven in the evening, he came across a popular comment:
"We are a generation filtered out by the city. No one will remember that we've been here."
He stared at this sentence for a long time, and finally only replied with: "Don't be so sentimental. Which generation doesn't live like a dog?"
This was the sixty - third comment he posted today. He had gotten used to leaving countless anonymous footprints on the internet every day, as if saying: Look, I also existed today.