一大概是出什么事了。我从床上爬起来,揉了下眼睛往外走,门口的泥巴路不长,转一个小弯,绕过一蓬老茶树,一截倒向菜园的竹篱笆,直插向马路。这条马路时常唤起我的同情,高低不平,疙里疙瘩的,一天到晚难得看到几台车子经过,像一个遭到遗弃的不幸的孩子。它一头连着田坪,也就是我们这个小塅,经过我家门口再往上走两里就断了头。另一头像一条懒蛇一样,畏畏缩缩爬过一个又一个山坳,去往三十多里外一个叫青蓝桥的老镇子。 One is probably what happened. I got up from my bed, rubbed my eyes and walked outwards. The muddy road at the door was not long. I turned a small bend around a canopy of old tea trees and down a bamboo fence to the vegetable garden straight into the road. This road often evoke my sympathy, ruggedness and lumps. It is a rare day after night to see several cars pass by, like an unfortunate child who has been abandoned. It is attached to the Tian Ping, that is, our little priest, through my door and then walked up two miles on the broken head. The other end like a lazy snake, crawling scared one after another col, to more than thirty miles outside the old town called a blue bridge.