Two months have passed, but I still feel traumatic when walking through that hospital hall. Illness and death are mixed with medicine and are filtered by dim light and wall color. Like a crouch, I brush myself on her face facing straight ahead, a woman in a white dress or trousers. Men and women focused on reading a medical record of a patient by applying long white coat, stethoscope on the neck, clipboard on both hands and dotted in the room. The blank face blends into a ruthless and distant atmosphere, overwhelming my feelings. My body shuddered when I went up to my brother's room and passed the unforgetable atmosphere of all the hospitals.
This is a white party. Everyone is wearing white clothes. A woman in white lace and silk underwear. A man with a simple white T-shirt and trousers. The only way a gentleman can be allowed to participate in such a party is to arrive with the lady. They will not let single males enter, there are good reasons. If you do, this place will be drowned by a sweaty person, which will destroy the atmosphere.
Girls wearing white trousers have never had bad pants lines or muffin tops. Their pants look smooth and smooth. They have never had spots of blood on their backs or grass marks on their own knees. Sometimes I put pants in physical education classes and gracefully came in volleyball courts and then rushed to the classroom as if they left the young magazine. I would like to hate girls with white trousers, but to be honest, I am very afraid of them. I imagine that they trim them with their mother, Barbie's pink toe claws, and new sandals. I imagine that I can apply to the university using a direct transcript and believe that I will have economic and economic resources.