Born poor, sorry.

I was born in Futian Island, Japan. My name is Garnai. I'm a prosperous ant. Survival is for the destitute, if you don't advance, you will fall back. It's not a social field with bright lights and fancy clothes, but it's hard to save your own urban jungle. There has never been a savior in my world, only tens of thousands of monthly student loans, utilities rent, and a cup of iced coffee every day. Some people say that poverty has a female face. I am dusty in the sinister world of mortals, struggling to survive. So I do lap dancing for a living. This is a world controlled by money, and no corner is spared. Born poor, I'm sorry.

I opened my eyes. Pungent and inferior perfume. Tobacco. Strong alcohol. And the vulgar smell of the flesh. There is a smell of desire and sin floating in the turbid air, which is eager to stimulate the sensory nerves of every visitor. This is a dissolute wine pool meat forest. Here, I sleep during the day and work at night, like some kind of nocturnal animal. I am in the dazzling lights, mixed with flowers, and I melt into this kingdom of blurred desires, twisting my body enchanting with the beat of music, and taking off my clothes enchanting. For those spectators, the naked woman in front of her eyes is just a symbol of gender. Last night's hangover and orgy gave me a splitting headache, and my limbs were tired and weak. My stomach began to ring restlessly. Hunger. I know the feeling best, it is a loyal partner who has always accompanied me for many years. I struggle with hunger and shame every day, and my will is worn away by poverty. Every morning when I get up, what awaits me is impenetrable embarrassment and a dark life. I asked myself when I would see the way out, but now I eat and drink Lazarus in a small and messy space every day, and I make a living by unfair industries every day. I don't think I am qualified to ask questions. I took a deep breath and pulled myself up from the crumpled sheets with a frown to sit up. There was a great pain in my waist when I got up. I groaned in pain, half closed my eyes, and groped out of bed barefoot. The floor is dirty and cold. I staggered to the dressing table. On a simple table stood a pile of inferior cosmetics and used disposable cotton pads, with dirty bright powder and a mass of black and red. I looked away in disgust, and when I looked up, I caught sight of the woman in the mirror, the face I didn't want to see at this moment. The hair is unkempt and tangled, and it is wrapped around the top of the head like an ugly vine, shining with disgusting oil. His eyes are dull, his eyes droop wearily, and his eyelids are flabby, like a walking corpse. Dark circles hang down at the moment, so thick that they seem to fall off. I began to think hard about how to cover them. My job made me grow old before I was old. But this is not a problem worth worrying about tonight. The problem is that I need to attract enough passengers to fill my stomach. I looked at my skin in the mirror, the skin of a teenage girl. It is haggard and dark yellow because of excessive indulgence and chaotic life schedule. I don't look good. Because I crawl all the way, I can't be calm, let alone elegant. I numbly wiped the stained mirror of the rag with my hand and stared at my face closely in the mirror. The skin is pitted and uneven, with spots and pockmarks all over the face. I'm starting to worry. I picked up the cheap cosmetics on the table, poured a palm full of thick liquid and put on a mask for myself tonight.

finally, I gently sip my lips, and my lips are like the burning rose ashes at the end of the night. I have regained my charming posture, like a flower blooming again, fragrant and blooming. Every night is my spring and my blooming season. After blooming, it withers, withers, rots and falls into mud in an unknown corner, and no one cares. I pushed the bottles and jars aside at random and began to pick out my clothes tonight in a pile of colorful colors in the corner of the ground. Open a long skirt, a suspender top, and shorts that are the same as those that are not. I just looked at them, and the exposed clothes with gaudy sequins shone with dissolute colors. I'm going to wear them, with that fake smiling face that is praised by everyone, and walk into the crowd to stretch my graceful posture, so that men can have a quick look with the ugly face like pigs and dogs. This is how I live shamelessly. I suddenly remembered my mother, my only relative, who loves me more than anything else in the world. I thought of her kindness, and suddenly I thought of my mother, my only relative, who loves me more than anything else in the world. I thought of her kind smile, vicissitudes of life face, wrinkles around her eyes and white hair on her temples. I remembered the rough touch of her hand gently touching my cheek, and the unspeakable warmth and security in the deepest part of my soul. I remembered the back of her cooking porridge for me with an apron and hot dishes. She said, Kanai, you should be fine. I remember that my tears and rising heat blurred the delicious rice porridge in front of me. I remember that she secretly saved money for me to study, carefully put every penny saved every day in an iron box, and counted it repeatedly with her back bent. I remembered my studies, and my ridiculous and unreachable ideal. I remember that in a home with four walls, I couldn't sleep on the hard bed in the silent night, thinking about my future and my ambition. I remember burying my head in a pillow and crying until I was silent. I remember holding my mother's thin body in my arms, holding back the tears that erupted, and telling her that she must give her a comfortable home, do a decent job and make her stand up straight and be proud of me. I remember biting my lip bitterly and vowing to get rid of the humiliation of poverty until I bit my lip and bled profusely. I thought of him. The only man I have ever loved emotionally in the vast sea of people in this world. The pure teenager in the campus, with gentle eyes like a piece of dark blue velvet, wrapped me gently. I remember that he was very handsome. When he smiled, his eyebrows were curved and his mouth was slightly raised. I remember that the cuffs of his white shirt, which smelled of washing powder, were soaked by my tears. I remember him standing under the wisteria frame and waving goodbye to me, with pink petals and blue moonlight scattered on his shoulders. There was a dull pain from my already numb heart, and I shook my head painfully to shake off this awakened self-esteem and desire for true love. A person who is too poor to live, a person who is flattering among men, has no qualification to talk about self-esteem and love. In this sensual kingdom, I have nothing but this dancing body. Life. Poverty. They left me nowhere to go. Those people above may not think of it. In the abyss at the bottom, people like me stare blankly. In the heyday, I am a mayfly. I covered my mouth and slipped slowly in the corner, suppressing the tears of collapse, and my trembling hands picked up a bright bright red leather coat. Put it on, I'll be the wild monster tonight.

I am surrounded by choking smoke. Ear is noisy conversation and vulgar laughter. I can't see their faces clearly, and I never deliberately look at their faces. They are my money owners, but I'm not curious about their appearance. They are like ghosts in the dark. Under the dazzling neon, it is my charming dance and smiling face, which urges people to commit crimes under the action of cigarettes and alcohol. The flesh is stunning and gorgeous, but my soul is empty and empty. I spun and twisted endlessly, and my bright red leather coat stung the pupil of the spectators. They are crazy and clap their hands desperately. The world is like a colorful ocean under the intoxicating light shadow, rippling with lust and dirty original sin. I felt dizzy for a while. If you have money. If I have money, I can rise and fall in the crowd. I won't be dragged on by poverty in such a youthful life. I won't be swallowed up by the greedy eyes of men in the neon of the city. Who can imagine the tragic bottom of Japan? A voice came from my eardrum, calling my name urgently. I almost turned my head in panic.

"No." I'm adamant, leaving no room. "Ganai!" The former son's reproachful eyes scorched my face. "The day before yesterday, I told you when I came." I spoke word for word, quietly and firmly. "Garnai, don't be so stubborn, this is a good opportunity!" Qianzi is getting more and more anxious. I bowed my head in silence and didn't speak. So the two of us stood face to face in a magical light. "All this," I suddenly looked up, with hatred, slowly looked around, and then looked back at the anxious ex-son, "is already my bottom line. I can't do it. You find someone else. " I turned to leave, leaving the former son standing in situ in consternation. High-heeled shoes hit the ground and made a cold sound. ? The former son ran up and grabbed my hand, holding it tightly and looking at me imploringly. ? "Ganai, in this city, he is too rich." She lowered her eyelids. ? "Ganai, in this city, he is too rich." She lowered her eyelids. "He asked for you by name." The former son added in a huff and puff. I suddenly burst into a violent anger, and I forcibly shook off my son's hand. I saw the panic in her eyes. "What's wrong with you today, Garnai?" She asked questions at a loss. She saw the angry fire in my eyes. At that moment, I really wanted to grab her hair, press her against the wall, tell her the life I should have in her ear, tell her how poverty forced her into prostitution, tell her my depravity, tell her my numbness and my pain. Tell her about the burning stomach acid when she is starving, tell her that a cup of iced coffee every day is cold to the bone marrow, tell her how many nights of sour tears are behind my beautiful fake smile, and tell her how ugly and unbearable I am under my thick makeup. Tell her that I, a lowly slutty showgirl, really loved a man, tell her that I still have a mother who is trembling at home every day to guard the meager hope in a tinkling tin box, and tell her my ideal, my vision and my dream bubble that will be broken at the touch. Tell her how I desperately want to please a group of wild animals every day to solve three meals a day, tell her how I wake up every morning exhausted and then fall asleep in fatigue and despair, and tell her that I work hard like the sword of Damocles, but poverty is still like an endless cycle. I have nowhere to run. I am hungry for food. I really want to lift her face with the same makeup as me and ask her why having money can make me come and go whenever I want, trample on people's dignity like dirt, be omnipotent in this city, and stand on the top of power and look down on us like ants. But I didn't say anything. I swallowed a mouthful of saliva with difficulty and raised my face in the dark. "good. I'll go. " My hand quietly became a fist, and my nails were embedded in the meat.

I stepped into the gloomy hotel room. No light was turned on, only the moonlight streamed sadly. This is a very high building, and the night wind is very fierce. The window is open and the curtains are flying wildly. I feel cold all over, as if I were drowning. I stepped on the luxurious plush carpet and approached the luxurious and comfortable double bed step by step. Snow-white silky sheets were laid flat on a fluffy and soft big bed with a middle-aged man lying on it. I can't see his face clearly. I approached the window, facing the fierce wind at night, took off my hair rope, and in an instant my long black hair flew backwards. The wind blew on my young face, which made me awake as never before. Standing in the silver moonlight as cool as water, I turned my back on the man and shed my coat as thin as cicada's wings. "Garnai. You are very beautiful. You are thin, but I like your eyes. You are worth a lot of money, and I will give you a lot of money. " The sound from the bed. A voice that stinks of copper. He gave me money like crumbs for pigeons. I smiled gently. I turned around and looked at the shadow on the bed, with my hair scattered on one side charmingly. The long-term hunger made my curves beautiful and light like a feather floating in the night light. I can feel his hot eyes on me in the dark, wandering a little, like vultures. I walked slowly and heard his heavy breathing getting closer and closer. I felt his skin, soft and sunken, and it smelled like a middle-aged man. He finally reached out his hand. My lipstick decayed in the dark. At the moment when his heavy body was about to overturn, I clenched the prepared sharp knife in the dark.

blood gushed from his body. My hands trembled and the knife fell to the ground. He covered his wound and looked up slowly, his eyes were cruel and bloodthirsty. I didn't hit the fatal part. I backed away in fear and tried to make a dash for the door, but he quickly jumped out of bed and blocked my retreat. My back pressed against the wall bit by bit, watching his demonic face gradually fill my field of vision. My neck was clamped and I was dragged to the window in suffocation. The night wind is so strong. My head was flung out of the window, my long black hair leaned back, and it was messy and windy in the fierce cold wind at high altitude. My head was suddenly pushed out of the window, and my long black hair leaned back and rummaged in the fierce cold wind at high altitude. This angle is just enough to see the night sky directly above, like a piece of dark blue velvet wrapping me gently. Like that teenager's eyes. The viscous and bloody liquid dripped on my face. His face was twisted with pain and anger, which was inhuman. He opened his red eyes and clamped my body with his hands. I smiled coldly and didn't struggle. Then I saw his weird smile. The next second, I felt myself flying out of the window. I saw flashing neon and flashing lights when I fell. Ears flashed men and women laughing loudly. Sing every night. The gilded nightlife in this city has just begun. We're just a game in their pocket, a piece of easy chess. I'm falling at incredible speed. Soon, soon, the surroundings turned into a blur, and the night was bizarre. My whole life flashed before my eyes. I was a poor dancer until I died. I have nothing but poverty in my life. There must be something beautiful to miss. Looking back at the teenager in the afternoon sunshine. Mother's steadfast and secure hug. I have infinite expectations and fantasies about the future, as well as impossible promises. And, and-I gently closed my eyes before landing.