So, Lao Liao is getting old, he pretends to be unable to squeeze onto the train.,He clutched his ticket pouch tightly, his gaze piercing as he scrutinized every passenger up and down. "Tickets for those boarding!" he shouted from his perch.,Lao Liao wore an old, thin cotton coat. He wasn't squeezed in the crowd but stood at the edge of it, holding a bottle of yellow wine in his hand.。