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On this disgusting day again, after dinner, I sat in a chair by the window and looked at the dense drizzle outside the window. On the wire hanging under the eaves, there is a string of water drops, crystal clear and transparent, like a pearl necklace. On the banana tree next to the fence, water drops are rolling down from the wide leaves, drop by drop, monotonous and continuous rolling on the mud. Outside the fence, a street lamp stood high in the drizzle, radiating its dim light indifferently, so lonely and proud, as if things in the world had nothing to do with it. After all, what does the world have to do with it? I sighed and stood up from my chair. Anyway, it's time for me to do my own thing.