wofawer ðŸŽ
@wofawer
Memories of spring for those born in the 80s: Learning to drive in the rain of locust flowers When the spring breeze blows the fragrance of locust flowers on my face, I always think of that afternoon in 1993. A little boy with crooked braids pedaled a 28-bar on the dirt road, his father's gray jacket rubbed against the seat, making a small sound, and the warmth of his palms passed through the iron pipe to my trembling knees.
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