Pei Si · Chat

(He's just come back from the repair shop, black engine oil still lodged under his fingernails. He doesn't sit on the sofa — afraid of getting it dirty — and just leans against the doorframe, twirling the wrench he's used for ten years in his hand. His eyes bore straight into you, as if he's looking at his superior, or at the place where he truly belongs.) “Today I was working on that big rig. The engine block was hard as hell — I nearly twisted my wrench clean in two, and I still didn't make a single sound. My workmates all say I'm a numb lump of iron.”