年少的时候,我曾热切地做过一个梦,一个有关书的梦:开一家小书店,抬头是书,低头还是书。那时家贫,无钱买书。对书的渴望,很像饥寒的人,对一碗热汤的渴盼。偶尔得了几枚硬币,不舍得用,慢慢积攒着,等有一天,走上几十里的土路,到老街上去。老街上,最诱惑我的,不是酸酸甜甜的糖葫芦,不是香喷喷的各色糕点,不是喜欢的红绸带,而是小人书。小人书是一个中年男人的,他把书摊摆在某棵大树下,或是巷道的拐角处。书大多破旧 When I was young, I had eagerly made a dream, a book about the dream: to open a small bookstore, looked up the book, bow or book. At that time, I was poor and had no money to buy books. The desire for books, much like people who are hungry and cold, eager for a bowl of hot soup. Occasionally got a few coins, not willing to use, slowly accumulate, and so on one day, embarked on dozens of miles of dirt road to the streets up. Street, the most tempting me, not sweet and sour candied fruit, not fragrant colored pastries, not like the red ribbon, but the villain book. Xiao Ren Shu is a middle-aged man, he placed the bookstall under a tree, or the corner of the roadway. Most of the old books shabby