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许多年前,我们村里有一位杀猪匠,动作干脆利落、技艺超群,每年腊八节一过,他就要被村里人请来请去,帮人杀猪,然后坐在人家的长板凳上抽烟、喝酒、吃肉,吃得红光满面、满嘴流油……结束时主人家还要挑一块上好的猪肉打发他回家。那时,他挑着家伙什和猪肉、哼着小调一步三摇地走在村道上的得意劲儿让我歆羡不已。某日,我的父亲心血来潮,问我长大了想干什么。我脱口而出:“杀猪!”父亲一巴掌扇过来——多亏我当时机灵,躲过了那一下,不然脸
Many years ago, we had a pig-keeper in our village. His movements were neat and tidy. His skill was superb. Every year during the Laba Day, he was invited by the village people to help them to kill pigs and then to smoke on the bench , Drink, eat meat, eat red light, mouthful of oil ... ... At the end of the host family also pick a good pork sent him home. At that time, he lugged the guy with pork and hummed his trifling efforts in the village road one after another to make me envious. One day, my father whims and asked me what I want to do when I grow up. I blurted out: “kill the pig! ” Father slapped a fan - thanks to my clever, escaped that look, or face