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有过路老人告诉我,这凳子是一个老人的,他坐在这儿等他的儿子,可最终没有等到,倒在了这儿,闭眼前留言,凳子放在这儿,让儿子知道,爹在这儿等他,一直等着。那是条小巷,江南常见的小巷。巷子被粉墙夹持着,很深很深,深得如同岁月一样绵远悠长。巷子里铺着的细麻石子,也被岁月的齿痕打磨得锃亮。一个老人静静地坐在巷子里,他是个瞎子。巷子很静,偶尔的,有老太太买菜,提着篮子走过;有老头散步,拐杖敲着石子路,一路敲过去。然后一切又恢复了寂静,只有墙头几朵花儿,在零零散散地开着。
There was an old man who told me that this stool was an old man. He was sitting here waiting for his son, but he did not wait until finally, fell here, closed his eyes and left the stool here, letting his son know that his father was here waiting for him , Has been waiting. That is an alley, a common alley in the south. The alley is sandwiched by pink walls, deep and deep, won as long as the long stretch of cotton. Alley covered with fine linen stones, but also by the years of tooth marks polished polished. An old man sitting quietly in the alley, he is a blind man. Alley is very quiet, and occasionally, there are old lady to buy food, carrying a basket walked; old man walking, crutches Pebble Road, knocking all the way past. Then everything was resumed, with only a few flowers on the wall, open in randomness.