One Sunday night, I was in a local bookstore. I can't go home because of the heavy rain. Believe it or not, you can make up a story about 100 words.

One Sunday night, I was in a local bookstore. It has been raining continuously these days, and the air is damp and cold. It finally cleared up in two days, but the temperature did not rise. Unexpectedly, it rained in the evening in a sunny city, and the rain was not small. Because of the heavy rain, I can't go home, so I can only stay in this small place for a while, and I can see all the bookstores when I turn around. But although the sparrow is small and complete, this bookstore can not only buy books, but also read some books provided by tourists and treasured by the owner, which is very suitable for an old bookworm like me to spend this long weekend. Now I'm not so much hiding from the rain as enjoying this rare peace.

I sat at the rest table, next to a bookshelf with some yellow pages and a strange miscellaneous collection at hand. Of course, I prefer thriller, horror and suspense books. They always give people different stimuli on another level. The rain outside is getting smaller and smaller. I looked at my watch. It was past ten o'clock. It's too late. I closed the pages, put the book back, and then I was ready to leave. When I walked to the store door, I said hello to the manager. The manager ignored me. I shook my head and opened the door. A cold wind blew into the shop. I was trembling and my heart was racing. I turned around and looked at the shop. Nothing special. The book is still in its place. The third shelf is near the heart. I chose it because of his position. I hope it can catch my heart. Indeed, that book. It's okay. Anyway, tomorrow is Sunday. Come back. I thought so and looked down at my watch. It is twelve o'clock. It is too late. It's time to go back. . . . . . . .