散了工，我熬了锅粥。同屋住 的知青志强喝了三碗，我喝了两碗。吃完饭，天已大黑，我俩拿出准备好的钓具，悄悄地溜出村。 这是１９６８年的秋天，秋风萧瑟，遍地落叶。我插队的小山村，也和城里一样，三天两头地开批判会，收获了很多革命口号，却未能收获足够的粮食。家家户 Dispersed workers, I boil pot porridge. Zhi-Qiang Zhi-qiang living with the same house drank three bowls, I drank two bowls. After dinner, it was already dark, we took out the prepared fishing tackle, slipped out of the village quietly. This is the fall of 1968, the autumn wind bleak, leaves all over. Like the city itself, the small mountain village where I set foot in the capital has also criticized the meeting with repeated ideas and won many revolutionary slogans but failed to reap sufficient food. Every household