一一大堆形状各异的脑袋,顶着长短不一的头发,看得出,都是只能摆放在底层的不入流货色。胡子拉碴的,头发花白的,满脸沧桑的,未老先衰的,不怀好意的,都不配有思想。端着一碗最廉价的饭菜,我在各种体味浓郁的脑袋中间穿行,找到一个合适的位置。一个作家,或者说一个怀着作家梦的城漂者,在不属于自己的城市里,似乎也不配有什么可笑的思想。而且,还占据这样一个显眼的位子,说得不客气点,真是有些不知羞耻。靠近窗户,有晃眼的光线,看得到大街上 Eleven different piles of different shapes and sizes, with varying lengths of hair, can be seen that they are all placed on the bottom of the influx of goods. Unshaven, gray-haired, vicissitudes of life, unhealthy, ill-intentioned, unworthy of thought. Carrying a bowl of the cheapest meals, I walked in the middle of all kinds of rich head to find a suitable location. A writer, or a city planted with a writer’s dream, does not seem to be ridiculously ridiculous in a city not owned by his own. Moreover, also occupy such a prominent seat, put it bluntly, really some shame. Near the window, there are dazzling light, see the street