那年秋天,我因实习住在靠近甘肃的一个偏僻小镇上。说是镇,其实根本就没有镇的模样。一条石子路从中蜿蜒而过,两边顺势曲折着几间低矮的瓦房。没有电脑,没有电视。带去的几本书早已翻过若干遍,书页上沾了些污渍,皱巴巴地泛出青黄色;几盘磁带,翻来覆去地听,黑色的带子耷拉着,让人想起烈日曝晒下干枯的鳝鱼。 In the autumn of that year, I lived in a remote town near Gansu due to my internship. As a town, there is simply no township. A gravel road passed by and the two sides twisted and bent with several low tile houses. No computer, no TV. Some of the books I had brought had already been turned several times. The pages were stained with stains and wrinkled and bluish. Some tapes were heard, and the black tapes were drawn, reminiscent of the dryness of the sun. fish.