But on the other hand, although he was almost paranoid, he was still conscious. He was deeply aware that he had the secret of what he had seen and heard in Dai's house, but could not tell, and these terrible images often came to his mind, and these terrible experiences were engraved on his face, his dull eyes, and his haggard appearance. The people on the beach saw a man with mental problems. These people have always lived in the city, so they all know the danger of mental patients. Joe found another campfire, where about twenty young men and women with shaved heads were sitting silently around the fire. Each of them wore a blue shirt, white sneakers, and a gold ring in his left ear. Men don't wear beards and women don't wear makeup. All of them are very handsome, and seeing how fashionable they are, Joe can't help but associate them with the movie "Cults in Beverly Hills". He stood among them for a few minutes, watching the men contemplate the firelight. When they noticed Joe,digital touch screen board, they were not frightened by what they saw. Their eyes were still as calm as water. Joe saw the deepest humility, acceptance and compassion in them. He threw into the fire a McDonald's paper bag containing two hamburger wrappers, a soda cup, and a paper towel with blood on it. Joe stared at the group of worshippers as the paper bag exploded in the flames, blackened, and then went up in smoke. Joe left the group and wondered if they knew what the real purpose of life was? This group of believers in blue robes have learned the truth and reached the realm of clarity. Do they finally know why they were born? Joe did not ask them,interactive touch screens education, fearing that their answer would be a platitude, no different from that of ordinary people who live in expectation and hope. A hundred yards from the campfire it was pitch dark, and he was sitting cross-legged on the edge of the tide that had washed up on the beach. Joe grabbed a handful of wet sand and rubbed it over his hands, hoping to clean the blood from under his fingernails. After that, without taking off his shoes and socks or rolling up his trousers, he went straight into the water, all the way to the dark tide, and then stopped knee-deep. Waves lapped and turned up phosphorescent foam. Strangely, although the night was clear and the moon was high, it was dark all around, smartboards in classrooms ,4k smart board, and I couldn't see my hand. Joe's legs held out against the pounding waves, and from the singing and whispering sea he found unexpected solace in the eternal rhythm, the meaningless pulse, the calm of peace. Jo tried not to think about what had just happened in the Dai mansion, because it would only make people more confused. He was so frightened that he didn't feel too sad about the death of the Dai couple and Lisa. One thing Jo learned at the "Compassion and Care" meeting was that parents who have lost their children are more likely to turn a blind eye to the suffering of others. When they see social news such as car accidents, fires and murders on TV, most of them are indifferent. The music that once touched their heartstrings, the art that once touched their souls, has lost its effectiveness. It can take a year or two for some people to overcome this loss of sensation. Some take five to ten years, and some people can't overcome it in their lifetime. Mr. and Mrs. Dai seem to be such nice people, but he doesn't really know them. Lisa was a good friend, and now she's dead too. So what? Everyone dies sooner or later, your child, or the woman you love in your life, anyone. Joe was shocked at how hard-hearted he had become. But he could not force himself to feel the pain of others unless it was his own. He learned from the sea to be indifferent to what he had lost, but he did not know what kind of beast he would become when the death of his wife and daughter was no longer important to him. For the first time, Joe thought that such extreme indifference might not only not contribute to inner peace, but also become a hotbed of evil. The busy gas station and the 24-hour convenience store next door are only three blocks away from the motel where he stayed. There are two public telephones outside the bathroom. A few fat white moths like snowflakes gather under the lamp and hover, only to see their magnified and twisted wing projections, constantly passing back and forth on the white walls. Joe hasn't cancelled his phone company credit card yet. He's used it several times for long-distance calls, but at the moment he'd better not use it if he wants to be safe. But he wanted to speak to Barbara, the head of the investigation team for Flight 353. It was 11:00 West Coast time and 2:00 a.m. on Sunday in Washington, D.C. She's probably not in the office. Of course, Joe could talk to the NTSB officer on duty, but he would never give him Barbara's home phone number. But he still found the switchboard for the National Transportation Safety Board and dialed it. The committee's new telephone voice system allows him to select an extension number and leave a message for any member of the committee. If you key in the first five letters of the name of the person you want to leave a message, you will be directly connected to the extension of the other party. So Joe carefully keyed in the first five letters of Barbara's name, but got a recording telling him that the extension didn't exist. He tried again with the same result. Either Barbara is no longer working here, or there is something wrong with the function of the voice system. While at any crash site, the head of the investigation team is a senior investigator sent by the National Transportation Safety Board headquarters in Washington, most of the names of members of other action teams are listed, but it is not known where they are stationed. Since the crash site was about 100 miles from Denver, he guessed that at least a few of the crew members were drawn from there. Using the eleven names in his hand, Joe called directory assistance in Denver and asked for their phone numbers. He's got phone numbers for three people, and the other eight are either unlisted or don't live in Denver. The shadows of the moths on the pink wall of the gas station, which appeared in Joe's mind in a large and small way,75 inch smart board, troubled him as if they were reminding him of something. Joe watched intently for a moment the rapid rise and fall of the shadows, which had no fixed shape like lava, and could not make any association with him. hsdsmartboard.com
