People at the bottom of society, struggling on the brink of poverty, expect to earn more money to support their families in 12 hours.
Looking back at those years, repeating 12 hours of work every day in the workshop, with a meager salary, darkness, what ideals, what poetry, what far away, out of reach!
When I was young, I never thought that when I grew up, I would work day and night in the factory, and even the most basic time to sleep at night was deprived, and the difficult nights were vividly remembered, looking forward to it, looking forward to it, and I missed the warm bed.
Yeah, why not change it? Is there no ability? No idea? Or what?
Time is always hurried, winter to spring, just like this, year after year, youth passes, life is still the same day and night upside down, the traces of the years crawl all over the cheeks, helpless quietly hidden in the heart, when persistence becomes a habit, everything becomes more calm!
Commemorate those hard years, countless nights of wanting to escape, countless sleepless youth!
![Modern life poem "Lunch Break" Author: Tang Ping's sun rises directly into the skeleton-like building straight into the chaotic open room on the bottom floor of the clouds, lying a few trees on the east side and a few woods on the west side of the body that has just eaten lunch[fig]](data:image/gif;base64,R0lGODlhAQABAIAAAP///wAAACwAAAAAAQABAAACAkQBADs=)