一那声音来自对面,另一栋楼的四楼,或者五楼。在燥热的夏夜里,撞在墙上,弹回去,又折回来。如此烦躁的夜晚,对面楼里的那人却把他手中的二胡弄得同样烦躁不安。我几乎无法在键盘上敲出一个成形的句子,干脆闭上眼睛,尽力让自己静下来,像电影里打禅的僧人。但我毕竟不是僧人,也没有僧人一样的定力。我耳膜胀痛,浑身如装满水的塑料袋,只需轻轻一针就要爆裂。通常,琴声是以水的方式弥漫的,而那声音就像生锈的铁锯锯着质地坚硬的物件,时断时续,还没拉完一个乐句便停了下来,锐索锐索半天又从头开始。 One that sound from the opposite, another building on the fourth floor, or the fifth floor. In the hot summer night, hit the wall, bounce back, and fold back. So irritable night, the man in the opposite building made the same erratic nerves in his hands. I could barely knock a shaped sentence on my keyboard, simply close my eyes and try to calm myself down like a Zen monk in the movie. But after all, I am not a monk, nor a monk like Dingli. My ear membrane pain, covered with water, such as plastic bags, just a pin to burst. Often, the sound of the piano is filled with water, and the sound is like a rusty scissor sawing a hard, intermittent piece of material that stops before a sentence is finished. Again from scratch.