这条街,就是一个小小的世界,养育了我们一方人。西街西有一座石桥,桥下是那制衣的人家。一扇坏损的移门半敞着,门后有一位手拿针线的女人。从小时,看着她的手黝黑而又布满干纹,像那乌龟背上深邃的花纹。我总是忍不住疑惑:这样一双手,生在这样一个女人身上,该是多不幸。她总是坐在门后一张桌旁,像所有想象中 This street is a small world that nurtures one of us. There is a stone bridge west of West Street, the bridge is that people’s clothing. A bad damaged sliding door half-open, behind the door a woman holding a sewing machine. From an early age, she looked at her hand, dark and dry, like the deep pattern on the turtle’s back. I can not help but wonder: such a pair of hands, born in such a woman, it is unfortunate. She always sat behind a table like all imaginations