会很烫吧?母亲问第一遍时,我就听见了。我们横穿过半露天的缓坡,一起往等候大厅的取件窗口走去。这个问题我没听懂,没有回答。但模棱两可地,又似乎有点明白。我觉得在这个时刻,她问出这种问题有点不可思议。大厅里排着三四行靠背椅,油漆差不多都掉光了,肮脏的水磨石地面,像破产国企的工人食堂一样,不值得因为这个惨淡的地方而变得更好。我们离开前,那儿站坐着几十个跟我们一样的人,还有 It will be very hot, right? My mother asked the first time, I heard. We crossed the gentle slopes of the open air and walked together toward the pick-up window in the waiting hall. I did not understand this question, did not answer. But ambiguous, it seems a little understood. At this moment, I think she asked such a question a little weird. Three or four rows of backrest chairs lined the hall, and almost all of the paint was gone. The dirty terrazzo floor, like the canteen in bankrupt state-owned enterprises, was not worth it because of the dismal place. Before we left, there stood dozens of people like us, and still