天刚擦黑,路灯还亮得有气无力。我路过这人迹稀疏的巷口时,无意中瞥了他一眼。他的头发蓬乱得像一个鸟巢,脸乌黑得似乎刷了一层漆。肩上搭了一个瘪瘪的、像他衣服一样脏兮兮的大化肥袋。平时你总是在垃圾堆前见到他们,经过他们的时候,我们的路线恐怕都会自然而然地划出一个弧度 Days just black, the lights are also bright and weak. When I passed the sparsely populated alleyway, I glanced at him unintentionally. His hair was disheveled like a bird’s nest, his face black as if painted a layer of paint. Shoulder to take a deflated, as dirty as his big fertilizer bag. Usually you always see them before the rubbish heap, after their time, I am afraid that our route will naturally draw a radian