她曾逃避着,懦弱着,随波逐流着,像个从不违规的孩子,躲进一个人必须成为什么以及必须干什么的避难所,从来没有活过。而现在手她将重新做人,面朝太阳,以梦为马,阿里在天上她在听一首歌。她刚回家,喝多了酒,倒在沙发里抽着烟。大衣没有脱,高跟鞋甩在堆板上,她看着窗外突降的滂沱大雨。雨很大,起了风,月光隐遁,对面楼晾在阳台 She had escaped, cowardly, dribbling, like a never-for-violating child, a refuge that one must become and what must be done, never lived. And now her hand will be re-person, facing the sun, dreams of horses, Ali in heaven, she is listening to a song. She just came home, drank too much alcohol and fell on the couch smoking. Coat did not take off, high heels thrown on the pile of plates, she looked down the window suddenly torrential rains. The rain is great, windy, the moonlight reclaims, on the balcony to hang on the floor