It's 7:30pm—after hours at the hospital. The Emergency Care is up and running, and there must be hundreds of people moving back and forth between the hallways and corridors.
Some are panicking at the injuries of a loved one, while others are arguing over getting the immediate help they need. There are long lines stretching out of every doctor's outpatient door.
Then, suddenly, amidst the swarm of near-stampedes emerges a familiar player. He's mid-aged, donning a thick, colorful bright jacket, an open motorcycle type helmet, and is moving fast--his eyes glued only to his phone. It's one of China's food delivery men.
He glances up for a second. He looks lost, but checks his phone and stumbles on the right door. He skips pass everyone--those wearing cast, others bearing bandages, and a few holding their gut in intense pain. Eh, he doesn't need to wait anyway.
He arrives in the doctor's office, whips out a Coco drink order, and drops it smack dabb on the desk without even the slightest acknowledgement of anyone in the room. And just like that, he vanishes out of sight just as quickly as he came. Long live China's food delivery men.