After buying what he needed, Hugo filled up half a paper bag, hugged it in his arms, and started walking toward home. But as he stood at the intersection, Hugo had to stop and glance around. Although he had moved to this area a few months ago, the winding little alleyways were still confusing. As someone who lacked a sense of direction, Hugo felt incredibly stressed.
Fortunately, Hugo had visited Charles' vegetable store enough times that even his directionless brain had retained a few impressions. Following Joseph's instructions and spotting a brightly colored yellow roof in the distance, he stepped in that direction.
Hugo walked up the gentle slope with light steps, humming a cheerful tune, "It just takes some time, little buddy, you're in the middle of the ride, everything, everything will be just fine; everything, everything will be alright."
The lively melody danced between Hugo's lips and teeth, as if even the sunshine around him was bouncing along with the rhythm. The stressful past few months brought on by the Golden Raspberry Awards had finally cleared like dissipating clouds. Everything was just a part of the journey; there was no need to rush or feel discouraged it just took time.
Hugo kept humming that chorus repeatedly, finding it catchy, and couldn't help but try composing the verse. Inspiration burst in his mind like fireworks. "Hey, don't give up on yourself. Being ignored or looked down upon is just your imagination. Just try your best, give it all you've got. Don't worry about the gossip behind your back!"
That verse completely mirrored Hugo's mental state these past few months, especially vividly capturing his mood during the filming of "A Few Good Men." Then tying the verse back to the chorus: "It just takes some time, little buddy, you're in the middle of the ride, everything, everything will be just fine; everything, everything will be alright."
And just like that, a smooth and natural song was born simple and clear. Hugo could almost hear the rousing drumbeats and joyful guitar sparks clashing in his mind. The upbeat, cheerful rhythm infused the lyrics with a bright, sunny energy, making Hugo's smile soar freely in the sunshine.
"Hey, you know they're all the same. You know you're doing your best, so don't care about them. Live in the moment! Yes, be yourself. Whether it's enough for others doesn't matter at all. It just takes some time, little buddy, you're in the middle of the ride, everything, everything will be just fine; everything, everything will be alright."
That inspiring energy was woven into simple lyrics and uncomplicated melodies, erupting with the most passionate flair, overflowing with emotion.
But what should the song be called? Hugo originally thought of naming it "The Beginning," but upon reflection, he was already twenty-five years old. Whether it was his past self or current self, he was already well into the journey this wasn't the start anymore, but rather, the middle of it. So Hugo finally decided to name it "The Middle." It might not be the most literal choice, but the meaning was just right, and that was enough.
Sure enough, life is the source of creative inspiration. Although Hugo hadn't exactly had a burst of inspiration after transmigrating, as his experiences accumulated, his musical understanding had steadily deepened. Now, when composing, Hugo felt every note dancing in his mind, automatically arranging into a melody according to his thoughts, and he could just hum it out. This feeling of blending emotion into music was unbelievably beautiful.
However, the potatoes rolling down the ground interrupted Hugo's thoughts. He had planned to refine the melody further, but the sight of potatoes tumbling uncontrollably down the slope made Hugo refocus his attention. Otherwise, he might accidentally step on one and fall on his way up the hill—which would be bad.
Hugo bent down and picked up a potato that had landed by his foot. He looked around and saw quite a few more on both sides some had stopped, while others kept rolling after a brief pause. He counted at least seven or eight potatoes in sight.
What's going on? Hugo lifted his head and looked up the slope, trying to figure it out, but saw no one. After hesitating for a moment, Hugo began picking up the scattered potatoes and placing them into his own paper bag. He kept collecting them as he climbed the hill and soon had a dozen or so.
About halfway up, he turned a small corner and finally saw what was going on. The curve in the road had stopped most of the rolling potatoes. One looked like it might start rolling again at any moment. Not far away, a white-haired elderly man was sitting on a stone block by the roadside, wiping sweat from his forehead with a handkerchief. In his hand was a paper bag with a torn bottom.
The situation was simple: the old man's paper bag had broken, and the potatoes had all spilled out. But climbing uphill was already exhausting for him, so chasing after the potatoes was no easy task.
Hugo's appearance immediately caught the old man's attention. The old man paused his action of wiping sweat, then gave a loud grunt and turned his head away, pretending nothing had happened. At the same time, he crumpled the torn paper bag and tossed it aside, as if the potatoes had nothing to do with him.
Seeing the old man's stubborn gesture, Hugo couldn't help but smile bitterly. But he didn't say anything. He simply bent down and picked up the potatoes, placing them in his own bag. However, Hugo's bag was already full of other items, so it quickly became full with the added potatoes. There were still about half of them left on the ground.
This elderly man lived downstairs from Hugo. His name was Ernest Lehman. Hugo didn't know exactly how old he was at least over seventy. With a head of white hair, he was still relatively robust, though his stamina clearly wasn't what it used to be. Ernest was a grumpy old man. On Hugo's second day after moving in, he had been scolded by Ernest. It was the day he went with Joseph and Alex to buy second-hand furniture. They were standing at the front entrance when Ernest reprimanded them because their furniture was blocking the hallway. It was clear the old man had a tough and uncompromising way of doing things.
Although Hugo had been busy filming "A Few Good Men" and hadn't had much direct contact with Ernest, he was harshly scolded again after filming wrapped. That time, Hugo had casually tossed a piece of trash toward the bin and missed. Before he could step forward to pick it up and throw it in properly, Ernest, who had just thrown out his own trash, scolded him. His reasoning: "You shouldn't be tossing trash. You should stand beside the bin and place it in accurately." At that time, Hugo had tried to do a "juggling trick" from five steps away.
Hugo had had quite a few encounters with Ernest. They lived in the same building, and especially since young people lived upstairs, noise was unavoidable. Ernest had scolded them several times. But each time, it had been their fault, and Ernest wasn't being unreasonable, so they could only accept the lectures humbly. Still, to Alex and the others, the old man's nagging and scolding were a bit too much to take.
Hugo didn't mind that much. During his most rebellious years, he had never heard nagging from his parents. He had always lived freely. Now that an elder was willing to nag a bit, Hugo didn't exactly enjoy it, but he didn't reject it either. He was willing to calm down and listen.
Standing there for a moment, Hugo put down his own bag against the roadside, then walked over to Ernest, picked up the crumpled paper bag beside him. Ernest immediately turned his head sharply and snapped angrily, "What are you doing!"
Hugo placed the paper bag in his palm and said innocently, "You shouldn't litter." That one sentence rendered Ernst speechless. He could only glare fiercely at Hugo, those sharp eyes piercing through his glasses and stabbing directly at Hugo's heart. If it were someone with slightly weaker presence, they probably wouldn't have been able to withstand it. But Hugo was already used to it.
"This isn't yours, right?" Hugo unhurriedly unfolded the paper bag again, slowly and methodically tidying it up. Ernest didn't know how to respond. Saying "yes" would mean admitting he littered; but saying "no" wouldn't add up either. So he could only grunt, "hmph," and said nothing more.
Hugo pressed his lips together and smiled. He folded up the torn bottom of the paper bag by a third, then folded it twice more, sealing the bottom. Then he walked over to the remaining potatoes and packed them all inside. But because the paper bag's space had been reduced, there were still three potatoes that wouldn't fit. Thinking for a moment, Hugo simply stuffed the potatoes into the pockets of his pants, puffing up the pockets of his jeans in a comical way.
Hugo picked up the two paper bags again, but holding onto both of them wasn't an easy task, especially with one of them potentially tearing open again. So Hugo looked toward Ernest, who was resting nearby. "Sorry, could you give me a hand?"
That question made it sound like all the potatoes belonged to Hugo, and now that he had accidentally spilled his things, he was looking for help.
Ernest glared at Hugo, but couldn't think of what to say. After hesitating for a while, he finally took a deep breath and stood up with effort, supporting himself with his knees and stuffing his handkerchief back into his pocket. Hugo knew that was his signal of willingness to help, and he hurriedly handed the torn paper bag to Ernst. This bag was risky, but it had fewer items and was relatively light.
"Thank you, you don't know how much this helps." Hugo really acted like the owner, sincerely expressing his thanks, which made the corners of Ernest's eyes twitch violently.
Hugo collected himself and picked up his own bag again, once more setting off forward. However, his pace wasn't fast; he deliberately slowed down as if he were strolling and enjoying the scenery, allowing Ernest to keep up. But they hadn't gone far when Ernest's irritated voice came from behind, "Idiot, you're going the wrong way."
Uh...
...
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