一进腊月天,村子就喧闹起来。卖菜的、卖杂货的、摆铁器摊子的,炸油饼的、卖蒸馍的、卖面的、卖蜂蜜的,大清早六点多,天刚蒙蒙亮,就在村巷间熙熙攘攘吵吵闹闹的。早晨去的时候都是自己走,默默地,踢踢踏踏的脚步声里伴随着咳嗽和烟卷的味道。晚上回来往往成群结队,说说笑笑,空荡荡的车子上、胳膊弯里夹着零碎用品。日子繁杂了、喜庆了,都是让年给闹得。大家都说这两年的年没个过头,整天白米白面大鱼大肉的,天天都是年,话是这么说,谁家也没怠慢,生怕少了哪一样年就不热闹。 Once into the twelfth lunar month, the village uproar. Selling vegetables, selling groceries, hanging iron stalls, fried cakes, selling steamed bun, selling noodles, selling honey, early in the morning more than six o’clock, dawn, just in the village bustling bustling noisy . Go in the morning when they go, silently, kick the footsteps accompanied by coughs and cigarettes taste. Back in the evening often in droves, talking and laughing, empty car, arm curled piece goods. Days complicated, festive, are to make year to downtown. Everyone says that these two years are not overdone. All day long, white rice flour and white meat, every day is the year, if so, who did not neglect, fear less what kind of year is not fun.