On the streets of T City, a bicycle was racing along, the man riding it lifting his butt off the saddle as he pumped the pedals hard.
His body leaned forward, phoenix-shaped eyes fixed ahead, his mouth grinning wide, as if something great had just happened.
Yes, this man was Joseph Lancaster, pedaling around the city, buying all sorts of tasty things.
In front of a state-run shop, with a screech of the handbrake Joseph had already leapt off the bike, kicked down the stand, locked it—one quick, urgent, practiced motion—and once the bicycle was secured, Joseph hurried into the shop, went straight to the fruit counter, and handed over a big "ram."
"Please, weigh me ten yuan worth of fruit."
The saleswoman stared at the big note in her hand, stunned. All her years selling fruit, the most generous customers only ever bought one or two yuan's worth. Someone buying ten yuan in one go—this was a first.
