Li Hong weaved through several streets, taking advantage of the time while crossing the road to glance around before heading towards the alley of her destination. At the corner, she tucked a note into a milk crate and bent up a corner of the metal nameplate on the crate.
This was their agreed-upon dead drop, used only once and only at the most critical moments. As their instructor had put it, the messages received here were essentially farewell letters.
Li Hong had listened with a smile that day and had even fantasized about writing a poetic farewell letter, so that when everyone reunited, they could read it aloud dramatically amid laughter and tears.
When the moment actually came, Li Hong realized that reality left no room for poetry. Though reality exists in pursuit of eventual poetry, all poetry is birthed from the overflow of reality.
When Li Hong left the office, she only had time to write three words with a pen: Leave, Plan 2.
