星期日的城市上空，弥漫着催人入睡的薄雾。 她走到窗口，拾起一本电话簿，页角已似菜叶状卷翘，她深爱这本跟了她六年的小册子。册里的每个名字都似有一张熟悉的面孔正望着她。 回忆是把无形的锁，常把她这样怀旧的人陷入历史的囚牢里。而她，则甘心情愿遁入此中。 手指轻轻弹 Over the city on Sunday, it was filled with the mist that fell asleep. She walked to the window, picked up a phone book, the page angle seems to be leafy curly, she loved her booklet with her six years. Every name in the book seems to have a familiar face looking at her. Memories are invisible locks that often trap her nostalgic people in the jail of history. And she is willing to escape into this. Finger gently bounce