一那是一个清晨,一个16岁少年的清晨。1989年9月1日,我和本乡的一帮同学相约去洋口中学报到。乡村每天只有一趟班车抵达县城。在麻麻亮的早晨,我们守候在路边,等待一辆卷起漫天尘埃、喷着乌黑尾气的老式中巴车。乡间公路颠簸得很厉害,路面又窄,而且铺满了大大小小的石头。全程几乎找不到几段平坦的道路。客车像一艘惊涛骇浪中的小舟,跌跌撞 That is an early morning, a 16-year-old boy’s early morning. September 1, 1989, I and a group of my classmates similar to Yangkou Middle School report. There is only one shuttle bus to the county every day in the village. On the hemp morning, we waited on the roadside, waiting for an old-fashioned bus that rolled up dusty clouds and dark exhaust. Bumpy country road was amazing, the road was narrow and covered with large and small stones. Almost can not find a few paragraphs of the entire road. Bus like a stormy boat, stumbled