He didn't know if it was poor appetite; he could only eat half of the noodles before he couldn't eat anymore. He walked to the chair on the balcony, sat down, and opened a bottle of beer.
Drinking beer early in the morning didn't feel good; he just simply thought that this weather was more suitable for drinking beer.
Sylvan Cheney sometimes looked outside, and sometimes he would casually flip through a few books on the balcony. For some unknown reason, he, who rarely watched movies, suddenly felt like watching one.
He placed his laptop on the table in front of him and started a movie, drinking beer as he watched.
The sky gradually brightened, and the dark clouds slowly dispersed. The colors between heaven and earth gradually cleared. In the distance, the street was filled with fiery red maple leaves, like flames burning and dancing.
On days without work, rare leisure, Sylvan sat on the chair like this, as if unaware of worldly affairs, or like an outsider.
