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有个朋友最近经营电视剧发了财,邀我一定到他新开的“酒吧”去坐坐。我去了。面对面。红葡萄酒似的灯光流泻在我们周围。不知从哪个角落传出最易激荡人心的萨克斯曲《回家》。也许,这是他特意安排的。临近中秋节了,对于多年离乡背井的我来说,似乎在提醒着什么,但我还是把注意力集中在他身上。他的仪态举止、谈吐内容同五年前在编辑部帮着分信的那个哆哆嗦嗦的文学青年判若两人。他给我的印象很深刻。但更深刻的是接下来他给我讲述的他那揪心裂肺的家庭故事—
A friend recently made a fortune in running a TV series, inviting me to sit in his newly opened “bar.” I went. Face to face. Red wine like the light flows around us. I do not know from which corner came the most stirring saxophone “home.” Maybe this is his special arrangement. Near the Mid-Autumn Festival, I was reminded of what happened to me for many years, but I focused on him. His demeanor, the content of his conversation, was the same as the shivering literary youth helped to distribute the letter in the editorial office five years ago. He gave me a very deep impression. But what is more profound is that he then told me about his heart-breaking family story -