九月的南国,并不是想象的那样焦灼,偶尔有些温润如酥。班长斜坐在对面,和我商量班上座位的安排,他突然说:莫聪可要放在第一排,他有时爱搞笑,有点像你。我一愣,盯着他,他只是淡然一笑。窗外下起了阵雨,一片迷蒙,弥漫了双眼,如歌的岁月,伴着湿漉漉的记忆,淅淅沥沥的,旖旎而来。 The southern nation of September was not as anxious as it was to imagine, and occasionally it was mildly crisp. Squadron sitting opposite the oblique, and I discussed the arrangements for class seats, he suddenly said: Mo Cong may be placed in the first row, he sometimes love funny, a bit like you. I surprised a moment, staring at him, he just indifferent smile. Under the window began to showers, a misty, filled his eyes, singing years, accompanied by wet memories, pathetic, charming come.