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午后稍斜的毒辣阳光透过被烟熏得发黑的玻璃窗,明晃晃地打在我脸上,刺得我眼睛有些痛。墙角那台老旧的电视机开着,一个面目模糊的主持人声嘶力竭地喊着立秋已至,像是讽刺。我扔下手中劣质的米粒走过去,“啪”地关了电视。这才安静了些,噪声来源也只剩下了楼下“呲啦”的炒菜声和在躺椅上睡着的外婆—她正歪着嘴打呼噜。我懒洋洋地抬手掩住一个哈欠,回到油腻腻的餐桌旁继续挑米。我的动作已非常娴熟,就连一向挑剔的外婆也
The slightly sloppy sun in the afternoon passed through the smoky glass window, shining brightly on my face, stabbing my eyes a bit painful. The old TV set was on the corner, and a dull presenter shouted hoarse at the beginning of the autumn that it was ironic. I dropped the hands of inferior rice grain went over, “snap” to turn off the TV. This was quiet, the only source of noise was the downstairs sound of barking and the grandmother sleeping on the couch - she was crooking and snoring. I lazily raised my hand to cover a yawn and returned to the greasy table to continue picking rice. My actions have been very skilled, and even the dismissed grandmother has always been