She is a woman. I am a woman

I thought I could be with him forever.

Her name is Xu Zhixing. When I first met her, we were freshmen. I met her when I took my tutorial in the Art of Thinking, a required course for first-year students.

She is the only female student I know who wears cheongsam embroidered shoes to class. It is really artificial, but it is very striking. I remember it was a pair of brilliant red embroidered shoes. She has close-cropped hair and often hangs her eyes, taking notes with the air of a schoolboy. But she painted the peach Codan ── Tu Codan women are bad women, calm, in a small show temptation, more is thoroughly bad woman. I didn't know I liked bad women.

Sure enough, her reputation spread far and wide. The boys in my class told me that her name was Xu Zhixing. She majored in Chinese and graduated from Jiangsu and Zhejiang School. She lived on LAN Tong Road. When we were in Plato's class, they were talking about Xu's trip in the dormitory in twos and threes. I hugged my hands and laughed, but in my heart, I despised these male students, but they still like to talk about her and call her "little Phoenix fairy".

I've been missing school. I bumped into her at the train station, and she was walking with her head down, with this guy behind her.

We met in "Introduction to Sociology" the next year. The old lecturer, in order to avoid the roll call, ordered us to sit one seat at a time, so that he would be impressed. I took the opportunity to sit next to Xu Zhixing. I remember that she was wearing a wide-bodied purple cheongsam that was dark white and had very fine hair on her arms. And it gave off a smell -- a mixture of powder, perfume, milk, and ink -- which I later called the Impatiens smell. Her hands were so smooth and cold that I wanted to touch her. But I didn't, because she didn't notice me.

She missed class again. When we got to Marx's theory of residual value, she reappeared and asked me to borrow my notes. I showed it to her and laughed, "It's no use lending it to you. Only I can understand it." She raised her eyebrows. "Oh, not really." Because I was lazy, I took short shorthand notes, which my classmates described as "code notes," so no one ever asked me to borrow them. When I saw her write like a fly, she translated my "password" neatly -- it took a month of classes to be able to do it. I like smart jumpers, which is probably why I went on this trip.

I said, "Buy you coffee." "Good," she said. This conversation is also like a telegraph.

We sat in the setting sun, and we said nothing. I looked at her carefully. She looked at me and said, "I've seen you before. The leaves are thin. You play shakuhachi alone in the classroom at night. I've heard of you." "I know you lost a pink Medunfang bust last week. I saw it on the big character poster in the dormitory lobby. That's you, isn't it?" She laughed: "The whole dormitory also knows, even the boys' dormitory also knows, you lost a pink 32B Mei Dunfang bust, really soil!" I said: "No, 32A is right, I am thin," I saw her chest up and down, I laughed: "I bet you must wear at least 34B, you can get married after 38! & 127;" The trip was gently covered the chest: "Oh, I am afraid!" Our conversation began, we understood, with a beautiful bust.

When she came to class again and again, we talked. The old lecturer is so skinny and wears flesh colored nylons. When I asked her where to buy a cheongsam, she said it was a trade secret. I asked her to watch the campus play, then Liu Chenghan's "Lust Burn Qin", we laughed hard. I took her to see Eisenstein's October, and we both went to sleep until everyone was clear. We went for late-night snacks, and there were times when we wore jeans, like the days we had fried clams with me, but she stuck to the embroidered shoes.

In the second semester of her junior year, her roommate checked out. But she didn't tell the housemaster, so I stayed with her. In fact, this is the real beginning of our journey.

To be honest, I just thought she was charming and clever and easygoing, but I didn't really know much about her. This is also the place where we most like the general love of men and women, our initial attraction, is based on the appearance of each other -- although I am not a beauty, there is no travel of the obseye, but I know how to sell themselves very low-key, I think the travel will like me this kind of people, this is a kind of, ah, very obscure smoke see Mei line. So did her embroidered cheongsam shoes.

In this way, our living room is "Fireworks alley". We both smoked. She smoked red and double Joy, I smoked mint and Dunhill. Both were hopelessly wild cigarettes. We all like TOM WAITS, dancing in our room. Her body is extremely supple. We are all women. I would flip through Povova sometimes, and then read KRISTEVA for lack of identity. When I protested, she turned to the sand hills. When I protested again, she looked at ANCELA CARTER. & 127; We were both getting ahead. I got a scholarship, she applied, but she didn't. Because she lost to me.