李若梅是个做豆腐的女人,开着一家豆腐店。不做豆腐的时候,她读诗,这个习惯让她和左邻右舍的小商贩有点不一样。南方的下午,春阳西斜,热浪依然咄咄逼人。店里开着空调,很凉爽。房间不大,前面是店面,后面是操作间,中间隔着实木柜台,一扇小门连通着前后。一张实木茶台,李若梅坐在一把竹椅上发呆,另一把空着的椅子上放着余秀华的诗集《月光落在左手上》。翻看得多了,书有些旧。没有顾客,一切显得安静。只有巷子的嘈杂偶尔夺门而入,钻进耳朵。 Li Ruomei is a tofu woman, driving a tofu shop. When she was not making tofu, she read poetry, a habit that made her a little different from the neighbors of neighbors. The afternoon in the south, spring sun west slope, heat waves are still aggressive. The shop is air-conditioned and cool. The room is not large, in front of the storefront, behind the operation room, separated by solid wood counter, a small door connected around. A solid wood tea table, Li Ruomei sitting in a bamboo chair in a daze, another empty chair placed Yu Xiuhua’s poetry “moonlight on the left hand.” Looked over more, the book is somewhat old. No customers, everything looks quiet. Only the noise of the alley occasionally wins the door and gets into the ear.