At the time, I would go out in the evening with my parents. But this time I had borrowed a bicycle from a friend of mine. I didn't know why, but once I was on my own bicycle, a kind of free feeling flooded through me. The faster I rode, the faster I wanted to go! Far ahead, I rode as if my life depended on it, head down, hands grasping the handbars. I meant to get to Jinghai Bar as fast as I could. . . Oh! My hands! Don't come any closer. . . Don't touch me! That poor doctor just couldn't get my gloves off. Each time he took a step towards me, I broke into painful shouting. Much later, I discovered that I had crashed heavily with another bicycle, and I hadn't spoken one word of sense for at least three hours! After some time, my mother arrived at the hospital, her face as white as a sheet, and gave me a hug , only then did the doctor begin to stitch my head wound, not only did he merrily cut off a long lock of my hair, but used no anaesthetic either! Later, I seemed to hear faraway voices saying that my right hand was broken. I almost burst into tears. How would I ever play the piano again? Why did the writer ride a bicycle to Jinghai Bar that evening?
Because she wanted to attend a party on time. Because she wanted to meet her friend who was waiting for her there. Because she just wanted to join some of her friends and drink some wine. We are not quite sure about what she was really going there for.