We went out to the Caf

Ghost story

Once the spirits came, the ghost story about the lights.

This is the story of my friend 's friend ground transfers in Hong Kong.

In particular, he stressed that it is true that happened to him in the story:

Because of the work relationship, I often have to drive late at night from the north to Yilan Highway.

North of the road is the name of the haunted place, especially at night through the nine bend 18 Shui Po, all the way some people throwing sprinkle paper, that atmosphere, the living is the feeling of the underworld.

At that time, Taiwan had haunted rumors from south to north.

Some people say it is a conspiracy of the Chinese Communist Party, others insist that there is really a ghost Trip to Hong Kong & China.

I was a timid person, listen to more haunted stories, driving the middle of the night in the North to the highway, it is nervous.

I was worried about what suddenly ran out of the road, or the engine suddenly stopped.

I have tried to open a large radio sound courage, but the mountains often receive bad, those if not like some noise is Jiaoren uncomfortable.

Ever since I heard the sound of the ghost will come out from the radio inside, I was afraid to open the radio ... ...

In short, I not only did not go because of the night at home and become more used to, but more and more allergies, my subconscious seems convinced that one day I will encounter a ghost Новости туризма.

It happened that late at night, I was still driving alone.

I remember the car after a small village, that small village although there are several families, but no one turn on the lights.

After the village, I just feel the atmosphere is very strange, it did not take long, I saw a girl in front of a white dress, facing my car waving.

Really, my heart almost jumped out from the mouth.

At that time my mood is very complex, I unknowingly slow down the speed.

On the one hand, I suspect that he is not looking away?

On the other hand, I also watch out for her to rush over or suddenly make any action.

Special heavy fog that day, I drove high beam, close to the discovery that it was a girl with long hair, the wind was her hair flying in the sky.

The more I want to feel more wrong, just want to step on the full throttle to escape, only to find that girl still holding a baby.

This can make my heart struggling.

I thought to the middle of the night, in case there is urgent need to hitchhiking mother, then how can we do?

In the car passing the woman less than ten meters or so, I finally rebelled, but driven by conscience, forced to step on the brakes.

Headlights according to the front, after the car black paint black and white, and can not see anything.

I only heard the woman running from the rear of the car, and then the door open sound, a cool breeze channeling in, followed by the door and closed, so I start the car again.

I doom to move forward, do not know why, from start to finish, the woman did not tell me a word.

I tried to talk to her, she did not answer.

Only to hear the voice of the baby after the baby sleepy teeth.

May be remembered the head lotus from the hell to save the mother can not turn back the story, my whole body creepy, and even look back at the courage did not.

I just remember to stepped on the gas, the car opened the sooner the faster.

Such as sky light, the car finally around the mountains, I have the courage to look back.

This look incredible, there is no woman in the back seat, leaving only a sleeping baby.

My whole body scorched, hurried to the police to open the police report, and the child to the police.

The whole morning I have no intention to work, the woman inside the mountain in the end who is?

Is a dead mother? Or is it a pregnant woman?

Behind her is a desolate love story?

... I almost imagined all possible versions.

Until noon break time, I could not help, and dialed the phone to the police to concern.

I did not expect, I explained what he wanted, the police at the beginning is a curse:

"What do you do ah, people mother put your child in your car, back to get luggage, you see do not see, opened the car and ran, causing the mother to get anxious to find a child everywhere, crying swollen eyes."

You Asked: How Many Friends Do I Need?

Friends do your health so many favors. They protect your health as much as quitting smoking and a great deal more than exercising, according to a large 2010 review in the journal PLOS One. More research has shown that socially isolated people are more than twice as likely to die from heart disease as those with a solid social circle hong kong travel deals.

“Strong social relationships support mental health, and that ties into better immune function, reduced stress and less cardiovascular activation,” says Dr. Debra Umberson, a sociologist at the University of Texas, Austin. Umberson says emotional support is just one of a dozen ways friends may safeguard your health and extend your life.

MOREHere's How Hugs Can Prevent the Flu

Unfortunately, though, many of us don't have enough of them. According to data from the General Social Survey (GSS), the number of Americans who say they have no close friends has roughly tripled in recent decades. “Zero” is also the most common response when people are asked how many confidants they have, the GSS data show. And adult men seem to be especially bad at keeping and cultivating friendships Hong Kong travel tips.

That may seem strange in the era of Facebook, Twitter and boundless digital connectivity. But the “friends” orbiting at the farthest reaches of your digital galaxy aren’t the ones that matter when it comes to your health and happiness.

The vital friendships—the pals you hug and laugh and lament with—are the ones who have the greatest impact on your health and happiness. You need between three and five of them for optimal wellbeing, suggests research from Dr. Robin Dunbar, an evolutionary psychologist at the University of Oxford.

Dunbar’s name comes up a lot when you start digging into the subject of friendship. From his early work studying the brains and social circles of primates, he recognized that the size of a human’s social network might be limited by the size of a certain part of the human brain called the neocortex, a critical site for higher brain functions. After some complicated study, he came up with a figure now known as “Dunbar’s number.”

That number—usually cited as 150, but actually a range between 100 and 200—is the approximate size of a person’s social circle, or the perpetually changing group of friends and family members that you would invite to a large party. While you may have far fewer than 150 of these people in your life, your brain really can’t hold a close connection with more than 150, Dunbar’s research shows. Within that group, he says your closest 15 relationships—including family members or “kin”—seem to be most crucial when it comes to your mental and physical health Hong Kong Sightseeing.

But that’s not to say a brother or sister offers you the same benefits as a close friend, Dunbar says. While your kin are more likely to be there for you when you need help, your good friends tend to fire up your nervous system and trigger the release of feel-good neuropeptides called endorphins. Whether you’re laughing with your pal or feeling him or her touch your shoulder in sympathy, the resulting rush of endorphins seems to “tune” up your immune system, protecting you from disease, Dunbar explains.

So yes, for the sake of your health, you need friends—ideally the really close kind you see face-to-face on a regular basis. But even one very good friend can improve your life in profound ways, says Dr. Mark Vernon, a philosopher, psychotherapist and author of The Meaning of Friendship.

Despite their value in terms of your health and wellbeing, don't think of them as your personal social doctors. Vernon warns against turning your friends into what he calls “service providers”—that’s not what friendship should be about, he says, even if your pals are good for you.

In the end, Vernon says Ralph Waldo Emerson may have offered the best advice when it comes to making and keeping close pals: “The only way to have a friend is to be one.”


"She has two stunts," he informed Maury; "one of them is to get her hair over her eyes some way and then blow it out, and the other is to say 'You cra-a-azy!' when some one makes a remark that's over her head. It fascinates me. I sit there hour after hour, completely intrigued by the maniacal symptoms she finds in my imagination thermage."

Maury stirred in his chair and spoke.

"Remarkable that a person can comprehend so little and yet live in such a complex civilization. A woman like that actually takes the whole universe in the most matter-of-fact way. From the influence of Rousseau to the bearing of the tariff rates on her dinner, the whole phenomenon is utterly strange to her. She's just been carried along from an age of spearheads and plunked down here with the equipment of an archer for going into a pistol duel. You could sweep away the entire crust of history and she'd never know the difference."

"I wish our Richard would write about her."

"Anthony, surely you don't think she's worth writing about."

"As much as anybody," he answered, yawning. "You know I was thinking to-day that I have a great confidence in Dick. So long as he sticks to people and not to ideas, and as long as his inspirations come from life and not from art, and always granting a normal growth, I believe he'll be a big man."

"I should think the appearance of the black note-book would prove that he's going to life."

Anthony raised himself on his elbow and answered eagerly:

"He tries to go to life. So does every author except the very worst, but after all most of them live on predigested food. The incident or character may be from life, but the writer usually interprets it in terms of the last book he read. For instance, suppose he meets a sea captain and thinks he's an original character. The truth is that he sees the resemblance between the sea captain and the last sea captain Dana created, or who-ever creates sea captains, and therefore he knows how to set this sea captain on paper. Dick, of course, can set down any consciously picturesque, character-like character, but could he accurately transcribe his own sister ijust 2?"

Then they were off for half an hour on literature.

"A classic," suggested Anthony, "is a successful book that has survived the reaction of the next period or generation. Then it's safe, like a style in architecture or furniture. It's acquired a picturesque dignity to take the place of its fashion...."

After a time the subject temporarily lost its tang. The interest of the two young men was not particularly technical. They were in love with generalities. Anthony had recently discovered Samuel Butler and the brisk aphorisms in the note-book seemed to him the quintessence of criticism. Maury, his whole mind so thoroughly mellowed by the very hardness of his scheme of life, seemed inevitably the wiser of the two, yet in the actual stuff of their intelligences they were not, it seemed, fundamentally different.

They drifted from letters to the curiosities of each other's day Fashion and Textiles Hons.

"Whose tea was it?"

"people named Abercrombie."

"Why'd you stay late? Meet a luscious débutante?"


"Did you really?" Anthony's voice lifted in surprise.

"Not a débutante exactly. Said she came out two winters ago in Kansas City."

"Sort of left-over?"

"No," answered Maury with some amusement, "I think that's the last thing I'd say about her. She seemed--well, somehow the youngest person there."

"Not too young to make you miss a train."

"Young enough. Beautiful child."

Anthony chuckled in his one-syllable snort.

"Oh, Maury, you're in your second childhood. What do you mean by beautiful?"

Maury gazed helplessly into space.

"Well, I can't describe her exactly--except to say that she was beautiful. She was--tremendously alive. She was eating gum-drops."


"It was a sort of attenuated vice. She's a nervous kind--said she always ate gum-drops at teas because she had to stand around so long in one place."

"What'd you talk about--Bergson? Bilphism? Whether the one-step is immoral?"

Maury was unruffled; his fur seemed to run all ways.

"As a matter of fact we did talk on Bilphism. Seems her mother's a Bilphist. Mostly, though, we talked about legs."

Anthony rocked in glee.

"My God! Whose legs?"

"Hers. She talked a lot about hers. As though they were a sort of choice bric-à-brac. She aroused a great desire to see them."

"What is she--a dancer?"

"No, I found she was a cousin of Dick's."

Anthony sat upright so suddenly that the pillow he released stood on end like a live thing and dove to the floor.

"Name's Gloria Gilbert?" he cried.

"Yes. Isn't she remarkable?"

"I'm sure I don't know--but for sheer dulness her father--"

"Well," interrupted Maury with implacable conviction, "her family may be as sad as professional mourners but I'm inclined to think that she's a quite authentic and original character. The outer signs of the cut-and-dried Yale prom girl and all that--but different, very emphatically different."

"Go on, go on!" urged Anthony. "Soon as Dick told me she didn't have a brain in her head I knew she must be pretty good."

"Did he say that?"

"Swore to it," said Anthony with another snorting laugh.

"Well, what he means by brains in a woman is--"

"I know," interrupted Anthony eagerly, "he means a smattering of literary misinformation."

"That's it. The kind who believes that the annual moral let-down of the country is a very good thing or the kind who believes it's a very ominous thing. Either pince-nez or postures. Well, this girl talked about legs. She talked about skin too--her own skin. Always her own. She told me the sort of tan she'd like to get in the summer and how closely she usually approximated it."

"You sat enraptured by her low alto?"

"By her low alto! No, by tan! I began thinking about tan. I began to think what color I turned when I made my last exposure about two years ago. I did use to get a pretty good tan. I used to get a sort of bronze, if I remember rightly."

Anthony retired into the cushions, shaken with laughter.