Warsaw, Poland!

Located in the central European continent, the mild climate attracts tourists from all over the world to come here to enjoy the impact of the waves. Seagulls and various seabirds are hovering in the sky, or leaning lazily on dead trees to watch tourists boldly, but again, their bird poop is really smelly.

An Asian, who was close to 187cm tall, struggled to push a popsicle cart along the coast. His face was covered in sweat, his bronzed skin was full of manly flavor, and his long black hair drooped to his shoulders, looking quite literary and artistic.

"OMG! Damn it, you've overwhelmed my castle." Suddenly, a black child emerged from the popsicle cart, pointing to the rotten sand that was not visible on the ground, glaring at the other party, he turned his head and complained, "Dad, someone bullied me."

Four or five black men playing beach volleyball not far away dropped the ball and ran over. The leader was naked and tattooed with a famous saying from "The Godfather": "Pain    is    not   so   irreparable                                                                                        �

He touched the black child's head and looked at the Asians with bad eyes.

"Sorry, sir, I didn't mean it." The Asian's dry lips shook, and his voice was a little hoarse, "I'll treat you to a popsicle." As he said, he opened the popsicle cart and was about to take out the apology gift when he heard a "pop!" and pressed his hand on the refrigerator. The black man opened his mouth, revealing his big white teeth, "50 zloty!"

blackmail?

In 1991, 50 zloty was his two-day meal.

According to the exchange rate: RMB 100 is approximately equal to 50 zloty.

The Asian stared at the other person's eyes and said with a lip shaped mouth, "NO!"

Seeing that he did not cooperate, a few people surrounded him and planned to give him some color. On the beach in Warsaw, fighting was as common as drinking water. Asians bent down and took out an iron lock from under the popsicle cart. They didn't say anything, but their eyes gradually became cold and they gritted their teeth. As long as the other party dared to take action, they would shout directly to their foreheads.

fight?

Have you called a man even if you haven't had a fight?

"Hey!"

A frivolous whistle naturally wiped the tense atmosphere between the two sides. Everyone looked in the direction of the voice, and saw a middle-aged policeman coming over, with his left hand down and his right hand waved his hand casually, just showing the pistol between his crotch, "Gentlemen, do you want to go in and pick up soap?"

"Wait for me!" The blacks pointed at the Asians unwillingly and turned around and left. They could not stand the investigation. Most of the blacks in Warsaw were smuggled. If they entered the police station, they would be deported. Who would have just arrived in "paradise" and would have been willing to go back to that dirty "hometown"?

"Thank you, Officer Smith."

"You're welcome, Don, do you need help?" Smith shrugged, looked at the stuck popsicle truck, pulled it hard with both hands, pulled it out of the sand pit, clapping his hands, "Do you need me to sell it for you?"

Tang Dao shook his head, looked at the old-fashioned watch that didn't even leave the second hand in his hand, and said lightly, "Today is my parents' death day, I'm going to the cemetery later."

Smith was stunned when he heard this, and then a little sadness flashed in his eyes, and he forced himself to keep an eye on, "Then... I'll go with you."

Tang Dao glanced at Yu Guang, and said nothing, and let the other party help him push the popsicle car into the small storage room beside the beach. After changing his clothes, he got into Mies's classic car, bought two bouquets of flowers, and came to the National Cemetery where teachers, soldiers, doctors, and beggars were lying.

Perhaps, for all industries, death is only fair.

When you walked into the cemetery, you could see people sitting in groups of three or three sitting in front of the tombstone and whispering to the dead. Tang Dao naturally walked to a cemetery in a corner. The tombstone was very new. The epitaph on it reads like this: "Here are the best police officers in Warsaw, Bruce Tang and his wife."

Smith placed the flower in front of the tombstone, took off his police cap, lowered his head and observed a few minutes of silence, "Your father is a hero, America will not forget him, nor will Warsaw, and awarded him the heroic medal."

"Are you talking about this?" Tang Dao took out a medal from his pocket and cushioned it a few times, "How much is it worth?"

"Tang! This is the honor your father has earned with his life, not with money to compare..."

"But it made an excellent Stanford student drop out of school because he couldn't afford the tuition. Because it made a child lose his parents and had no source of income from now on. It was scrapped copper and iron to me." Tang Dao suddenly became excited and interrupted the other party with red eyes. "Why were they? Why weren't you lying inside?"

Smith lowered his head, and after a moment of silence, he said, "I'm sorry."

Tang Dao's chest was undulating rapidly, and he tightly held the hero medal. The sharp corner easily pierced his hand, and blood flowed. After he looked at the tombstone deeply, he turned his head and left, leaving Smith alone in the wind.

...

“Give me a glass of whiskey.”

Tang Dao pushed away and sat at the counter, putting the only five-dollar banknotes in his pocket, and Abraham Lincoln's stinky face was disgusting.

The bartender looked at him with a little disgust and went to the mix without saying much. He served it in a few minutes. Tang Dao looked like he was drinking boiled water and poured it with his head raised. This scene made the bartender's eyes straight. Except for the Russians who often come to the west of the city, this was the first time he had seen Asians drinking whiskey like this.

Aren't they very subtle?

Is God crazy?

"Cough cough cough..." Tang Dao bent over and coughed violently, holding the table, his face turned red, and pushed away the bartender who was about to support him, his eyes straightened. He was confused. What should he do in the future?

In fact, he has always had a secret that he... lived in the second life!

In his previous life, he lived to be 72 years old and was finally found to be frozen to death on the streets of California.

In this life, he lived to the day when his parents had an accident. It was too late to stop him...

That damn God always likes to treat human hope as cigarette butts on the ground, bringing you hope and despair!

"Did I just want to start over and feel the pain?" His trembling body, with a low sob, vented his resentment from both lives on Smith. If his parents were not dead, would his life be like this?

A Stanford University student who graduated successfully!

The annual income is at least 150,000 zloty, and you will enter the middle class!

And now?

He was not even qualified to receive Polish unemployment benefits!

Tang Dao's chest was filled with depression, and only whiskey could be relieved.

He was drunk alone in the entire bar, and he didn't know how many cups he drank, and his steps were sloppy. Just as he was about to get up, two men suddenly rushed in from the door, knocking several guests very rudely, and cursing, "Get out!"

One of them seemed to be injured, covering his stomach and looking pale.

The bartender was puzzled and was about to walk over, then four or five people rushed in, wearing suits, sunglasses, and rushing in! Seeing those two people, they didn't say anything, and shot them first, no matter what accidental injury was.

Gunfight!

"shit!" Tang Dao's bladder shivered and almost frightened. He hugged his head like a wild dog, and used his hands and feet to hide under the counter. The red wine worth hundreds or even thousands of zloty on the wine cabinet on the back was beaten to pieces, and the liquid was like blood on the ground.

"OMG, OMG!" A waiter with freckles on his face was already hiding under the counter, holding a silver cross in his hand, trembling, and the sound was trembling. When he saw Tang Dao, his pupils shrank, and his butt was so scared that he seemed to have a spring installed. He wanted to stand up directly. His forehead hit the wooden board above, and his painful face was twisted.

"Shhh..." Tang Dao put his index finger on his lips and said lightly, feeling a little hot in his crotch, and his face stiffened. Could it be that he was scared to pee?

He was not as thick-skinned as he reached out to touch in front of others...

He just moved his butt with embarrassment, but suddenly he felt that the gunshot stopped?

Tang Dao was brave enough to slowly show his head. First of all, he saw that the two people who had broken in before were already lying in a pool of blood, with two pistols lying beside him, and the murderers had long disappeared...

“Guru…”

Tang Dao swallowed. This was the second time he saw the body. His scalp was still a little numb, and his eyes were gradually attracted by the pistol. He pursed his lips. He didn't know where he got the courage. He bent over and rushed over, and directly picked up a cobra revolver made by Colt. The muzzle was a little hot. He ignored it and stuffed it directly into his clothes and hid under the small table next to him. There were few people in the bar and the lights were dim, so no one saw what he did.

"Woo woo woo woo woo..." At this time, a low-frequency alarm unique to the Polish police sounded at the door. It has to be said that the security system in Warsaw is still very strict. In just five minutes, a total of eight policemen in the two police cars were wearing bulletproof vests and carrying Glock 42 pistols. One of them was big and thick black policeman in a disgusting dialect English, "Let's go down, everyone lay down, put their hands on their heads."

In Poland, you must listen to the police, otherwise... they can say that you are threatening their lives with your thoughts, which is very good from the Americans.

Tang Dao lying down very consciously and raised his hand high, but the revolver in his clothes was a little uncomfortable.

…

After the subsequent support came, all the people in the bar were allowed to get up, and each question was almost repeated several times. Perhaps because Tang Dao was an Asian, his inquiry was particularly sharp.

"Where do you live?"

“Conway Street.”

"What career is in? Waiter? Footwasher? Or..." The white male policeman who asked paused the tip of his pen in his hand, his eyes joking, "The    thief?"

Tang Dao clenched his fist and his face turned red. He suddenly raised his head and asked, "Sir, are you discriminating against?"

The sound was loud and it naturally attracted everyone's attention.

"Hey, is there anything wrong with Jackson?" A bald man with a second-level police superintendent turned his head and frowned. His hand couldn't help but touched his waist.

"It's okay." Jackson turned around and closed the record book, leaning forward with an aggressive look. "You are insulting the professional ethics of the Warsaw police. Now, squat on the ground! Immediately, immediately!"

Tang Dao's breathing gradually accelerated, and the Polish eyes were disgusting!

I really wanted to punch this bastard's nose with one punch, but my only reason told him not to do that. After all, the Polish police were a well-known legal murderer. He looked at him and slowly squatted down with his head in his arms. A strong sense of humiliation instantly surrounded him.

Fark!

Jackson was very satisfied with Tang Dao's look. Chinese people on Conway Street and black people in the southern community should look at white people with this kind of "respect" look.

This is Poland!

"Now, go back to the police station to investigate..."

"Jackson" just as the other party was about to handcuff Don Dao, he saw Smith running over panting, swallowing in a panting, grabbing Jackson's wrist and looking at Don Dao, "He is the child of our Warsaw Police Department, and his father is Bruce Don."

Jackson raised his brows and thought of a slightly thin figure in his mind. He was often used as a handyman in the police station... Chinese?

"He is blocking..."

"His father is a hero and has already died." Smith directly interrupted the other party and glared back without hesitation. The two of them watched this for dozens of seconds. Jackson put the handcuffs back on his waist with a dark face and turned around and left.

"Don't worry about this Mexican descendant, Don, are you okay?" Smith helped Tang Dao up and said worriedly.

Tang Dao looked at the wrinkled bags in his eyes and felt panic. He pulled out his hand hard and waved his hand. His voice was a little hoarse, "I...I'm going back." After that, he was almost in a panic and fled, and almost tripped under his feet.

Smith looked at the thin figure who disappeared into the darkness and sighed helplessly.

...

Kangwei Street, a two-story western-style building.

The darkness in the middle of the night was reflected on the bed from the window, and you could see a figure shaking his head unconsciously, his eyebrows were tight, and his breath became rapid, as if he was suffering in a dream.

"Dad! Mom..."

Tang Dao suddenly opened his eyes in horror, as if he had a spring installed, his chest was undulating, and the cold sweat on his forehead became a little cold under the moonlight. He rubbed his temples and became a little swollen. He reached out and touched the water cup at the head of the bed, took a sip, and pressed back the heart that was jumping abnormally in his chest.

Just now, he had a nightmare again, dreaming that the bullet passed through his parents' skull, and both of them fell in a pool of blood. This scene has been hovering in his mind for a long time. Sometimes, Tang Dao even needs sleeping pills to fall asleep. According to the Chinese community doctor's words, it is: "Stimulating mental tension."

If not treated in time, a series of sequelae may occur, including depression or stress response (full of aggressiveness).

Tang Dao shook his head and wanted to go to the bathroom. As soon as he lifted the quilt and placed it on it, the dark brown coat fell to the ground, and a revolver fell out. He was too nervous. The shooting made him a little forgetful. He forgot that he had "stealed" the revolver, bent down with some difficulty, picked up the gun and looked at it, and suddenly a piece of information flashed in his mind.

"Name: Cobra Revolver."

“Manufacturer: Colt.”

“Production date: 1986.”

“Official price: $240!”
Chapter completed!