老巷子里,那间又窄又矮的小卖部还在经营着,货架上的物品似乎从未换过,1角钱的大刀肉勾勒起我幼时的回忆。银杏树下的裁缝老人如以前一样不停地踩着缝纫机,手麻利地穿针引线,阳光斑斑点点落下来,落在老人的身上,带着一丝陈旧的韵味。理发店的镜子和椅子还是那一套朱漆木质的,老理发师用他那老式剃须刀谨慎而熟稔地从那布满泡沫的下巴滑过,老顾客们与他漫不经心地聊 In the old alley, the narrow and short canteen was still in operation, the items on the shelves never seemed to be changed, and the dime of the knife sketched my childhood memories. Tailor ginkgo tree under the old man, as usual, constantly stepping on the sewing machine, the hand ran sharply through the thread, the sun spots a little down, fell on the elderly, with a trace of the old charm. The hairdresser’s mirrors and chairs were still painted lacquered wood, and the old hairdresser cautiously and familiarly slipped past the foamy chin with his old razor, and the old customers casually chatted with him