Later, I often thought that if I hadn’t had diarrhea that night, I would have gone to a hotel with her long ago.

Looking back on this story, I don’t find it amusing at all—instead, there’s a bit of sadness to it.

Hugo once said: Dreams are permitted to those who fail, and memories belong to the lonely.

People who are too immersed in memories are often too lonely. I don’t intend to be lonely anymore, so I’m planning to squat in the bathroom and look forward to the future. For me right now, the best future would be meeting a beautiful flight attendant at the airport and developing a new story.

Speaking of flight attendants, I actually feel a bit ashamed. Counting on my fingers, I’ve lived quite a few years, but I’ve never had any story with a flight attendant. Up to now, I don’t know any flight attendants at all, which sometimes makes me feel like there’s a missing piece in my life.

Every time the word “flight attendant” comes up, I subconsciously think of another word: “train attendant”… This term is something I made up myself. A “train attendant” is a female crew member on a train.

Someone once asked me: What would you compare the girls in your memories to?

I answered: Each of them is a song.

The train attendant in my memory was just such a girl—like a song.

I once had a love-at-first-sight experience. That year, I saw a kind and beautiful train attendant on the train. She was helping an old lady off the train, and I was instantly struck by a kind of human radiance. I felt like I was falling in love, and in my mind, David Tao’s song started playing: angel, angel, please hold my hand tightly…

On April 18, 2004, China’s trains underwent the fifth major speed increase. Before that, the trains were so slow it was outrageous. It was also before that when I took the train with the train attendant every day. That train ran from point A to point B, taking a total of 60 hours and crossing several provinces, yet I tirelessly kept taking that train.

Back then, I believed in “afterwards,” so miracles happened. She couldn’t understand why someone would not work, not study, and just ride trains all day for two months straight. By the time she understood, she’d already been fooled.

We went through storms together and saw rainbows, experienced happiness and tasted pain. The reason we broke up was also a song: That year, you decided to travel north, while I insisted on heading south in my heart…

At one point, I wanted to write a book called “The Days of Living with the Train Attendant,” but considering that I might accidentally tell the truth in a fictional story, I held back. Years later, when I look back, I still think she was an angel, and I shouldn’t tarnish her with my lecherous pen.

Once again, my admiration for beautiful women has led me off topic. Lately, I keep unconsciously falling into memories, which leaves me confused. Am I just too lonely, or is there something wrong with me?

Whenever this happens, a scene becomes especially clear in my mind: an aging uncle, lost in his memories…

I didn’t even wipe my butt before pulling up my pants and walking out of the bathroom.

As for why I didn’t wipe, it’s because I didn’t go at all!

Just as I walked out, a flight attendant came out of the women’s restroom across from me. She looked to be at least 1.7 meters tall, her measurements unknown. Since I’m already rhyming, I might as well add that this girl, over 1.7 meters tall with unknown measurements, was very pretty.

If I had to describe her in one sentence, she gave off a vibe a bit like Zixuan from that melodramatic show “Chinese Paladin 3.”

The moment I saw her, I was lost again.

She looked very familiar to me.

“Come on, every time you see a beautiful woman you say she looks familiar!”

Luke’s words echoed in my ears again, making me unsure whether I really knew this flight attendant in front of me.

This kind of situation really hurts me. I planned to find a quiet corner to heal, and then… and then, nothing happened. Just a few minutes ago, I was fantasizing in the bathroom about having a story with a flight attendant. But when a real, living, breathing flight attendant appeared before me, I lost my dream.

A lot of people are just like me—not lacking opportunities, but missing great chances again and again.

I think my only merit is that I never complain about fate not giving me opportunities; I only hate myself for not seizing them. After the psychological trauma caused by the woman in black stockings, the flight attendant in front of me gave me a strange sense of security. Maybe it’s because I could be sure this flight attendant wouldn’t start spouting some mystical nonsense to brainwash me.

I tried hard to come up with an opening line. If I said, “Miss flight attendant, you dropped your Hearthstone,” would that make me seem too frivolous? While I was working on my opening, I made my intentions clear by staring at her without blinking. The more I looked, the more I felt like the answer was about to reveal itself.

At first, she didn’t pay much attention to me, but then she probably noticed I was staring, so she looked back at me a few times. That’s when things got interesting—she was even more excited than I was, her voice trembling a bit, and when she opened her mouth, it was actually in English: “oh~~”

She “oh”ed for a long time without getting to the point, so I had to figure it out myself.

If she followed her “oh~~” with “my god,” that would be nothing new.

If she followed her “oh~~” with “yes,” it would remind people of a certain famous Japanese actress’s Western counterparts.

If she followed her “oh~~” with “oh~Howareyoudoingthismorning,” then it would be the Oppo-ulike2 commercial song.