Some people on the street have succumbed to slumber. Whether it is the weather or something in their hearts, Yingzi and her daughter Juanzi are lying in bed, gazing at the dark ceiling in a trance. They recall the last words of the old day. Daughter Juanzi cuddled her head and darted into her mother’s arms to escape the thunderclap after a flash of white lightning. When the thunder subsided, she blinked her watery furry eyes and said: Mom, can I wear a white shirt tomorrow, please? Aunt Wang said that Juanzi looked like a little white dove when she ran in a white shirt. Mom, can I wear it…