Nike CTR360 Maestri FG, the wind is a bit strong, though.

After the heavy rain, everything feels fresh and natural. Closing my eyes, I deeply inhale through my nose and exhale through my mouth, allowing the sensation to flow down my esophagus, reaching my internal organs and spreading throughout my body. It feels like every cell in my body is being refreshed, pushing out the heat inside me, making me shiver involuntarily. The pain from a sudden force on my shirt sleeve near the armpit quickly escalates into a sharp attack of stimulation.

In such moments, I always run to adults hoping they won’t mind my foolish actions, like how "Nike Total 90 Laser III TF" or other things might feel. Anyway, enjoying nature’s gifts with someone nearby is indeed delightful. This method, though simple, has a nice name: borrowing wind from the second person if there's someone next to you, or even the third if necessary. I prefer borrowing this second wind. Regardless of how strong the wind blows, it’s fascinating.

Thinking about it while walking, ideas come naturally to mind. I absentmindedly throw my handbag onto the bed, cross my hands into my pockets, and head outside. As soon as I step out, a biting cold wind gives me a full embrace, creeping inside my sleeves and gripping my fingers tightly behind my back. I instinctively take a step forward to escape, but then realize it’s not working? It keeps attacking me, releasing my hair from its tie, caressing my face and hands, kissing me freely each evening. Despite my whimsical mood, it continues humming a short tune, leaving me powerless to yell, "Air Max 2009."

In chaos, I look up at the neighbor’s balcony across the way, where a solitary pink long-sleeved figure sways in a dissonant tango rhythm. Feeling sorry for them, I walk calmly towards the street, wearing Adidas F30.8 TRX FG shoes. In the distance, a taxi approaches me, and instinctively I step back, letting it pass after a few steps. Ten seconds later, I regret not running and jumping into the puddle before me. "Why didn't I move?" Frustrated by the driver's mad rush, I mutter under my breath, hating his lack of sportsmanship. Sitting on the roadside tree trunk, I pant uncontrollably, still cursing him internally. Words like quality and education seem meaningless now. Finally, I can eat no more of this set. My heart races wildly, proving my strong existence in this world.

Stopping to observe, the road is flooded with water, reflecting the weeds beside my nearest clear path. Suddenly recalling an age-old saying about capsizing boats, I marvel at the purity of water, untouched even by me, imagining my greatness. A middle-aged woman walks towards me, her permed hair styled in a way I dislike, wearing a dress that reaches her ankles. Another gust of wind mixes with sand, covering her eyes as she tries to protect herself. She holds her dress with the other hand, walking in an S-shape. Avoiding these potholes is bitter; seeing me in this state makes her unable to endure and prepares to leave.

Looking closely, an elderly couple follows behind. Their interest piques curiosity. Both are around 60-70 years old. The grandfather’s bald spot on his forehead looks like part of his brain, surrounded by silver-streaked hair. His high cheekbones are prominent. He holds his wife’s hand, who appears more spirited than him. Her layers of excess flesh beneath her mouth make her neck nearly invisible. Her palms are swollen like plump hands, yet her skin remains fine and smooth despite the mosaic-like fish scales visible on her arms. The wind blows towards them, and their interaction resembles a mother whispering to her child.

As they approach the flooded area, I am ready to leave. Unexpectedly, the spirited wife playfully steps near the cement garden, surrounded by neatly trimmed low shrubs. Walking normally, sometimes leaning on her husband’s arm, they manage to avoid difficulties. Seeing the elderly woman struggle slightly, I worry for her safety.

The grandfather supports her waist as they carefully navigate the cement. He doesn’t let go, smiling together as they face the next challenge. Her next step proves difficult, truly testing her endurance. The veins on the grandfather's temples bulge as they finally take one step, then another. Holding each other tightly, they ensure neither gets wet. Using both hands, they support each other, pulling each other along. Each step moves them further, tightening their grip. They laugh again after overcoming the challenge.

Next, lifting one leg, the wife balances momentarily, her body slightly swaying. The sound of her other foot vibrating inside her shoe echoes. Finally, her foot draws a beautiful arc, landing on the stone edge. Moving her foot, a branch rustles loudly, marking the moment.

Then comes the second step, successfully navigating the shallow water. Walking on the cool cement, she laughs joyfully. The grandfather hides his embarrassment by lowering his head into her embrace. The morning breeze carries their laughter, scattering it like the worst day's gas annoyance turned into smiles.

I am captivated by this beautiful scene's deep charm, watching them fade into the distance. Returning to reality, I hear a familiar voice asking, “What are you doing here?” Turning around, I see my mother sticking out her tongue and running towards me. We stop near the puddle, splashing water droplets everywhere, laughing as we mimic patterns and run towards each other...