老街,正如它的名字一样,沉默而沧桑,却不失智慧。老街不长,仅有三百米,平铺着长满青苔的青石板。老街的两边是各式的老屋,低矮的墙檐带给老街别样的寂静,只有当嘟嘟的摩托车喷着烟雾从老街穿过,人们才会发现这个社会的喧闹。当雨点散落在老街上,滴滴答答,敲奏着最古老的乐曲,沙沙的,像是正在翻动一本古老的书籍。 Old Street, just like its name, silent and vicissitudes, without losing wisdom. The street is not long, only three hundred meters, covered with moss covered bluestone. On both sides of the street are all kinds of old houses, low eaves brought to the streets of the other kind of silence, only when the toot of motorcycles sprayed smoke through the streets, people will find the social noisy. When the raindrops scattered in the streets, ticking, playing the oldest piece of music, rustling, like is turning an old book.