微弱的月光铺在青砖路上,微醉的春风在巷子里千回百转。他哼着调儿,一个踉跄,熟食和烧酒差点砸了。到了木板屋,惊了一下,窗边的桂树前蹲着一个人。那人腾一下站起,看不清脸庞,可这身形太熟悉了。他的嗓子哽了,老娘挑着担子又来看自己了,“娘,您……等多久了?”老娘鼻子一酸,问:“每天都这么晚吗?”“不是,就今晚,加班嘛。”他晃了晃熟食和酒,“老板加工资哩。” Faint moonlight shop on the brick road, drunk spring breeze in the alley. He hummed tune children, a shy, cooked food and shochu almost smashed. To the wooden house, astonished, the window of the cinnamon before squatting a person. Teng who stands up from time to time, can not see the face, but this body is too familiar. His throat, his aging mother lug the burden again to see myself, “Mother, you ... ... how long?” “Nose nose a sour, ask:” Every day so late? “” No, Tonight, I’ll work overtime. “” He shook cooked food and wine, “the boss added.”