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It's been raining.
Qi-Zhao Ming out of the dance halls, some dangling. He knows that he drank a little too much tonight.
Originally, according to his previous habit, he stopped drinking this kind of business entertainment after drinking two or three cups at most. But today, that little poem, egged on by Mr. Hu, crushed him step by step, making him have to give up drinking and fight against Mr. Hu and his party alone.
Boss Hu used to be a small contractor. He has spent half his life in the construction industry in Nanjiang, and he has never mixed anything. Until recently, I didn't know whether I was lucky or enlightened. I learned from others to set up a small real estate company and made a fortune by making huge profits from real estate. A countryman from the countryside, after earning money, of course, should enjoy it. Poetry is his best luxury.
To tell the truth, the poem is really beautiful. Its skin is white, tender and smooth, as if it can squeeze out water with one pinch. I heard that she just graduated from high school, and she doesn't know what's wrong with her brain, so she is willing to hang out with an old man like boss Hu. When the wine was half drunk, the poem leaned against Zhao and whispered to Zhao to send her home, which was self-evident.
Although Zhao drank a lot, he was sober. Although he is forty years old, he is still exercising. ...