The bottom of the lane
Lane bottom lived a little girl also didn't go to school, because face special red, let a person could recognize her facial features are like her, of course, before that she is a geometric features beautiful, but let a person remember, only that a little face red.
I wonder if she had any parents, except that she lived with her grandmother, who was surprisingly ugly, and apparently, not because she was old. She had hardly a nose, and her mouth was crooked, and if her eyes were only dim hk serviced apartment, her eyes were so wicked.
She people short, walk with your feet look fork legs is an eyesore, I also don't know how she is, she has a fast life walk, is always one foot to the east, one foot toward the west.
What she did on that day, I don't know, it was as if she was always making a fire, using an old stove, and putting it in the wind at the door, the fan in the cleft, and the incantation of the mouth. Her a piece of wrinkled face dimly separate after a smokescreen, but a pair of critical exposure to direct gashed broken smoke, in the cold wet rainy evening, the pedestrians will suddenly thought he has walked into the evil yellow fog, beside a poison dysentery four teng swamp.
They just live from day to day illegal buildings in the bottom of a lane, day after day, the little girl's red cheeks bloom, day after day, the old woman's face is like the winter dry breezed chicken dry shrinkage, furnace, day after day like a magic cylinder mouth took the denial of smoke.
Isn't it life? Some childish beauty, some shocking ugliness master of chinese medicine hong kong, in a kind of dungeon of the undivided and everlasting posture of a deep end of the lane.
Waxy car
At what time, by whom, made up "nom", "chi" two words.
There was an ancient poet who ate the "cake" of the double ninth festival, but did not dare to put the "cake" into the poem.
"The book of songs doesn't use the word 'cake'," he said. "how can I put the 'cake' in the poem
Go to?"
The orthodox literati have a funny and respectable persistence.
But the people, however, did not care, and when they were pleased, they made words, and they clearly understood the sound
The principle of the word "will".
I like "waxy " this two word, seems to have a sense of the original hair SanSan. I like "sticky mochi", though
But its good taste is a kind of uncharacteristic delicious.
I like the waxy mochi, and I can't describe how the soft, sweet, greasy little car sells joy to the children. Nom mochi seems to sell only to children, and sometimes to old people - only to end up in the children's hands.
I really like rhythm of waxy  car, or do not know why, all delicious  car with this line of their own music myob support, just like knock plate of the umbrella and also sell wonton knock bowl, sell sweet potato shaking bamboo tube, is equipped with a single high aesthetic feeling and rough. Of waxy  car "instrument" is a wheel, the wheels turn the place with a on the two bar, to touch each other's "empty", "empty" is used to symbolize a kind of ancient music thrash rice. The well-heeled peddler, with his sack doll on the two iron bars, the hero and beauty of the story, came to life with the wheel.
The hardcore takes turns at a different speed, but it's about a second a second, or four. This one rises and goes down; That rise, this one goes down. And also can not say the ups and downs, always in the palm of the big world. The sinking of a palm, the rise of the same.
After going along with the glutinous moche, you'll end up feeling a shudder of fear. Old rusty iron hanging on some well-known and unknown Kings and princes, some exist or not exist empresses beauty, to be a ruthless speed literature.therefore, in the vast crowd repeats is no respectively between generation and generation blows on the face of the fall of the fate, isn't that is your life? In the most simple rhythm, the "fierce", "ji", "regret" and "blame" are reflected in the words of the fortuneteller. Between ticks, a lot of life and death has been completed.
Whenever I see a glutinous-moche, I can't help but look at it.
Who eat the orange
In the afternoon of winter, the sun was hanging over the earth with an air of indifference, like some of the eyes that had been burning for a summer, but now it was forgotten.
There was an old man sitting on the sidewalk, as if he had jumped out of the circle of his feet, and he sat blandly in a faint sunlight.
The old man bowed his head, and with a knife was cutting the orange peel. It was the orange of the "tangerine". The skin was very loose, and he could easily peel it away with his hand, but he did not know why he was doing it with a knife, like a stonemason.
He would take four strokes of each of the oranges, and then he would tear them apart with a knife, and the skin of the orange would be the flower of a cross in his hand. He took off the whole of the orange meat, carefully removed it, ate it slowly, and finished it. Then he took another one slowly and patiently, and repeated all the formalities patiently.
That afternoon, he ate a petal of tangerine like that, and stopped in an incredible silence.
Isn't it life? The sun cut the four seasons, the four seasons cut the old man, and the old man cut the tangerine tangerine without a word. Thought the old man winter seems to last forever, it seems that he was still sitting on the corner of the dusty, meticulously, in the spirit of a metaphysician need standard, fine taste the mysterious golden orange juice spilled of rising.