Dreaming for 10,000 years

Chapter 345 Apple
Hearing Jack's words, George's eyes reddened again, tears welling up in his eyes, almost spilling over. He lowered his head, trying hard not to let Jack see his vulnerability.

Jack's voice was deep and hoarse, carrying a weariness born of experience, as he continued, "You know about the Gopher City fire a few years ago, right?"

George nodded, indicating that he understood.

That fire was a disaster that devoured countless lives. The flames, like a wild beast out of control, frantically consumed the mansions of the wealthy near the foot of the mountain in Gafford.

The fire raged for dozens of days, shrouding the entire city in thick smoke. The air was thick with the acrid smell of burning, and even the wind felt scorching hot. Many people perished in the fire, which was eventually extinguished by a sudden downpour.

“They’re all blaming the firefighters for inaction…” Jack paused, as if suppressing some emotion, and then said, “But I’d say they brought this on themselves.”

"The fire is burning other people's property, but the firefighters' lives are their own. That's the mentality of firefighters in the fire department right now." Jack's voice carried a helpless self-deprecation:

"I was so stupid... If I had thought of that sooner, my brothers and I would definitely be doing better now!"

George heard the endless regret in Jack's voice.

When a person dies, everything else is gone.

What about the honor and duties of firefighters? When they're gone, no one speaks up for them. Doesn't all of this become a lie? A way to trick firefighters into risking their lives?

George wanted to comfort Jack, but when he opened his mouth, he didn't know how to offer any words of comfort.

Does he mean to say, "It's not your fault, it's their fault"?

Isn't this obvious?
These words sounded so pale and weak that even he himself felt they were hypocritical. He was so weak that he couldn't even utter a decent word of comfort.

"I..." George began, but the words caught in his throat.

Jack seemed to sense his embarrassment and waved his hand, interrupting him: "Sorry, I brought my negative emotions to you again."

“Your generation has it much harder than ours,” Jack said with a hint of apology, then added with a sigh of resentment, “Damn it, how did Gough City become like this!”

Yes! How did Gough City become like this?

George didn't know, but he knew Jack was a really good person. They talked a lot, and Jack gave him a lot of advice and comfort, making him feel a long-lost warmth.

That kind of fatherly care that he had never experienced before!

George grew up without a father, and he didn't even know what it felt like to have a father, but he thought that Jack gave him that feeling.

So they talked until very late, until the dead of night. Even when they woke up the next morning, George had no regrets.

After a long day at work, it was still early today, before it got dark. George wanted to bring Jack some apples because Jack had casually mentioned yesterday that he hadn't had an apple in a long time.

But he knew he didn't have much money. Although his two salaries combined totaled over three thousand dollars a month, his monthly expenses were very fixed.

Rent, car loan, student loan, utilities, internet, insurance—all these miscellaneous expenses combined left him with only $500 a month.

Of the five hundred dollars, after deducting daily necessities such as tissues and bottled water, very little money can actually be spent on food.

Several dollars a pound for vegetables and fruits was far too expensive for him. He could only afford the cheapest food, usually discounted bread and canned goods. But today, he wanted to bring Jack some apples, even just a few.

So he drove to the blood bank. Selling blood to supplement his family's income is very common in Gave. Gave law allows blood donation twice a week, or once every four days.

Although it's only fifty dollars each time, fifty dollars is a lot for someone who only has a few hundred dollars to spend each month.

Moreover, the blood bank receives additional rewards for selling blood multiple times.

George parked his car and went into the blood bank. Several brightly colored posters were plastered on the walls, advertising the benefits of blood donation. Some posters even read: "Sell blood five times, get an extra thirty dollars. Sell blood ten times, get an extra fifty dollars."

George was already very familiar with the process of selling blood, after all, it was a "routine" that he went through several times a month.

When he stepped out of the blood bank, it was already dark. He looked at the streaks of black light in the sky—those were the Dark Knights.

He was going to the supermarket later, and then he would risk driving home. He had to strictly follow traffic rules along the way, avoiding speeding and crossing solid lines.

This is a little difficult, but there's no way around it.

As he was about to drive away, his gaze inadvertently swept across the parking lot and he noticed an old man lying there, motionless, as if he were asleep, or as if he had already stopped breathing.

George had seen this scene many times in Gough.

In a deserted corner, a homeless person sheltering from the cold wind may be only a few hundred meters away from the kitchen of a high-end restaurant.

Near the supermarket where he works, there are also many homeless people huddled in corners, surviving on meager relief food and occasional handouts.

George merely glanced at the old man, his mind unmoved. He got into the car, closed the door, started the engine, and prepared to shift gears.

Just as he was about to step on the gas, the old man suddenly got up from the ground, staggered to the front of his car, and lay down on the hood.

"Wang Defa! Do you want to die?" George couldn't help but curse when he saw the old man suddenly rush in front of his car looking for death.

"Get the hell out of here!" George rolled down his window and roared at the old man. His voice echoed in the empty parking lot, but the old man ignored him, clinging tightly to the hood.

George felt a wave of bad luck wash over him, inwardly cursing his own misfortune. He took a deep breath, pushed open the car door, and stormed to the front of the car, ready to pull the old man away.

"Old man, I think you are..."

Before he could finish speaking, the old man suddenly seemed to unleash his last bit of strength, lunging at him and grabbing him around the waist.

Caught off guard, George was held tightly by the old man, struggling several times but unable to break free. Then, he felt something sharp pressed against the back of his neck; the cold sensation instantly froze him.

"Don't move!" The old man's voice was hoarse and deep.

George's forehead instantly broke out in a cold sweat, and his heart pounded wildly. He could feel that sharp object pressed tightly against his skin.

He knew what it was.

"Don't kill me, I'll give you money!" George's voice trembled with pleading.

That old man was Wayne.

(End of this chapter)