那是个闷热的傍晚,天阴着,没有风,知了的叫声此起彼伏。他站在一株枝繁叶茂的泡桐树下,心里像有一堆蚂蚁在没头绪地四处爬行,抓不到,撵不走,躁得不得了。他是进城务工的农民。这一点,从他的衣着打扮就可以判断出来。他在等一个孩子。当然,那不是他的孩子,他的孩子在两千里之外的乡下,每年春节才能和他见一面。他真疼那个虎头虎脑的小子,他自己的人生从来没有规划过,但儿子一出生,他的心 It was a sultry evening, the sky was over, there was no wind, and the cry of knowing one after another. He stood under a leafy paulownia tree, the heart like a bunch of ants crawling around in no mood, can not grasp, do not go, do not get impatient. He is a peasant in the city. This point, from his dress can be judged. He is waiting for a child. Of course, that is not his child, and his child can not meet with him every year during the Spring Festival two thousand miles away. He really hurt that tiger brain boy, his own life has never been planned before, but his son was born, his heart