Ask for "Einstein's dream" on May 20, 1905

May 20, 1905? Just look at the crowded stalls on Spital Street. Shoppers wandered from stall to stall to see what was on sale at each place. Tobacco is sold here, but where can mustard be sold? Beet is sold here, but where is cod? Goat milk is sold here, but where can sassafras be sold? These are not the first visitors to Bern. They are residents of Bern. No one could remember buying chocolate at the "Ferdinand" shop at No. 17 of this street or buying beef at the "Hof" gourmet house at No. 36 the day before yesterday. Each shop and its specialty products are always new. Many people take maps with them to the streets and provide directions for others who follow the map to find their way from the street in the city where they have lived all their lives to the road they have been walking on for many years. Many people carry notebooks to jot down fleeting experiences that come to mind. In this world, people have no memory. ?It was time to go home after the day, so everyone opened their address book to see where home was. The butcher, bored with cutting meat, found himself living at No. 29 Nagri Street. The stockbroker who made excellent investments because he knew a little about the market discovered that his current address was 89 Post Street. When everyone got home, they saw women and children waiting at the door. So, I gave my name, helped make dinner, and read stories to the children. Similarly, when every woman comes home from get off work, she also encounters a husband, children, sofas, lamps, wallpaper, porcelain paintings and so on. At night, the couple did not spend time at the table talking about their children's schooling, bank accounts, etc. during the day. They felt each other's blood was warm, and there was something painful between their legs, as if they had met for the first time fifteen years ago. They found the bedroom and stumbled all the way in, not recognizing the old family photos and having a night of fun together. Passion is dulled by habit and memory. There is no memory, every night is the first night, and every day is the first day (Tantai mistakenly clicked: this translator Huang Jisu must be a master of dirty jokes^_^), every kiss and every touch is unprecedented. The world without memory is the present world, and the past only exists in books. In order to understand themselves, everyone has a biography, which records life events. Through reading every day, he repeatedly learned who his parents were, whether he was of high or low birth, how he performed in school, and what achievements he had made in his life. Without this record, a person is just a photo, a two-dimensional image, a lonely soul. In the leafy cafe on Brungashart Street, one can hear a man's lament - he has just read that he has killed someone; a woman's lament - she learned that she was chased by a prince before; Another exclaimed - she had won the best student award in college ten years ago. At dusk, some people sat at the table and browsed their schedules; others were busy catching up on the day's events. ?Each person’s biography thickens over time, becoming too thick to read through. So there was a choice. Those who are older may read the previous chapters to relive their youthful years; or they may only read the end to understand the recent situation. ?Some people simply stop reading. They abandoned the past and made up their minds. Whether they were rich or poor yesterday, full of knowledge, ignorant, proud, humble, sentimental or boring, they should ignore it and just let the breeze blow in their hair. Such a person will look you in the eye and hold your hand. Such people walk briskly and know how to live in a world without memory.