下班途中,只要一抬眼就能看见马路边上一家卤菜店,一个二十几岁的小伙子,穿着一身油腻的工作服,百无聊赖地看着前方。彼时,没有什么顾客。唉,这个小伙子就在这间油腻腻的小方格里蹉跎一日又一日。每次从高速收费站经过,只见收费人员,在一间小小的屋子里,不停地重复着同样的手势,嘴角永远挂着上扬四十五度的微笑。在一个个清冷寂寞的夜晚只有一台小小的收音机陪伴在旁。 On the way to get off work, as long as one looked up, you could see a ramen shop beside the road, a young man in his twenties, wearing an oily overalls and looking bored in the front. That time, there is no customer. Alas, the young man was in the greasy little square day after day. Every time after passing from the toll booth, I saw the payees repeatedly repeating the same gesture in a small room with a forty-five degree smile on my mouth forever. In a cold lonely night only a small radio accompanied by.