哎,过来看一看啊,漂亮的民族工艺品!……姐姐,买羌绣吗?一声甜脆的呼唤剪断了我沉重的思绪。在“5·12汶川大地震废墟遗址”数米之遥的步行街上,粉衣黑裤的小姑娘站在蓝顶帐篷前,笑眯眯地招呼着游客。小姑娘,你多大了?十五了。说着,她麻利地捧起几块羌绣布品给我看,她漆黑的睫毛一闪,嘴角微微一扬,露出一排整齐的白牙。呀,才十五岁,就不念书了?我捏着绣品,盯着 Hey, come take a look ah, beautiful ethnic handicrafts! ... Sister, buy Qiang embroidery? A sweet and crisp call to cut off my heavy thoughts. On the pedestrian street a few meters away, the ruins of the May 12 Wenchuan earthquake ruined the little girl in pink dress and stood in front of the blue-roofed tent, greeting the tourists with a smile. How old are you, girl? Said, she deftly won a few pieces of Qiang embroidered fabric to show me that she was flashing dark eyelashes, lips slightly Yang Yang, showing a row of neat white teeth. Ah, only fifteen, do not study? I pinch embroidery, staring