4:00am,上海。他回到公寓楼,卸下沉重的大提琴。背后的汗,就像是秋天巴士车玻璃窗上的露水。他抱怨这个城市水气太重,却从不埋怨那把沉重压抑的大提琴。他走向洗手间,洗脸,看到眼前一脸困倦的男子——那是他自己。可是他并不觉得困倦,只是有些麻木,像是身上的每个毛孔都紧紧闭塞,对冷热都很钝感,甚至不会感到疼。他早就习惯这样,从他和大提琴一起走上舞台开始。这是第N次在凌晨四点多 4:00 am, Shanghai. He returned to the apartment building and unloaded his heavy cello. The sweat behind is like the dew on the window glass of a fall bus. He complained that the city was overloaded with water, but never complained about the heavily suppressed cello. He went to the bathroom, washed his face and saw the drowsy man in front of him - that is himself. But he does not feel sleepy, just some numbness, as every body pores are tightly closed, very hot and cold are insensitive, and even do not feel pain. He had long used to this, starting with his cello on the stage. This is the Nth at four o’clock in the morning