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致·北京大巴上。我看着景象由安逸的小城逐渐变成灰白的高速路再变成流动的人潮,林立的高楼以及被楼层切割的生硬而冷冽的天空。故事,便得以开始。这是个怎样的城市?许多人到来,拼搏,功成名就,它不声不响地接纳,没有欢迎和欣喜;更多的人离去,挣扎,黯然神伤,它不言不语地凝视,也无从挽留与悲哀。它静卧在那里,冷漠的外表下波涛暗涌,喧闹中故事纵横,它甚至比世界还要纷繁复杂。这座至关重要的城市,每天被无数脚步声惊起,翻卷着细小的尘埃,流动成灰蒙蒙的雾气。
To Beijing bus. I looked at the scene from the easy-going little town to the grey highway and became a crowd of people. There were tall buildings and hard and cold skies cut by the floors. The story begins. What kind of city is this? Many people come and fight and become famous. It is quietly accepted. There is no welcome or joy. More people are gone, they are struggling, and they are dejected. They stare in silence, and they can’t stay. With sorrow. It is lying there, cold waves under the surface of the indifference, noisy story, it is even more complex than the world. This vital city, stricken with countless footsteps every day, wafted with tiny dust and flowed into a gray mist.