从小在海边长大,我是个吃鱼的行家。准确地说,我就是传说中那种吃鱼从来不怕择刺的高手,总觉得鱼儿的美味,十有八九,都集中在它们那些个细细的小刺上。因而,每年一到杨柳泛绿的早春时节,我就要到市场上去寻觅那些巴掌大的小鲫鱼。每次满载而归,都能由衷体验到一种棋逢对手、将遇良才的阵阵暗爽。这种得意,在大学时代尤其膨胀得无可救药——几乎每一个和我一同吃鱼的小伙伴,都因为有意无意紧跟我的节奏,结果不慎被鱼刺卡了嗓子。记忆中伤得 Growing up by the sea, I was a fish-eating expert. To be exact, I was the legendary master who was never afraid of choosing to eat the fish. I always thought the delicacy of the fish was in all likelihood, and focused on those small, thin sting. Thus, every year to the willow pan-green spring season, I will go to the market to find those big palm carp. Each full return, can sincerely experience a chess every opponent, the case of good talent bursts of cool. This kind of pride, particularly inflated in college, hopeless - almost every partner I eat fish, because of intentional or unintentional follow my pace, the result was accidentally fish thorn card throat. Wounded in memory