Many many years ago, I got used to living alone. The curtain was tight, and I lived in the space I arranged. My mobile phone was off, the telephone line was unplugged, and the main door was double locked. On the glass table, there were always some wine bottles, cooked dishes, and inferior cigarette butts.
I can't tell the taste of good cigarettes from bad ones. It's just that some cigarettes burn very quickly, and the spiciness makes me choke with tears.
In fact, I don't want to drink alcohol. The bitterness of beer and the spiciness of spirits are detestable to me.
There are many sad songs in the room.