我是一个没有什么故事的人。同学聚会,最后一天关在房间里,主持人逼大家供出当初读书时暗恋的对象。春天的日光淡淡的,阳光下,整个世界像是被装在一个透明的玻璃容器里。陷在里头的人,如同自家制作的,在冰箱里慢慢冻住的橘汁雪糕的馅心。黏糊糊的季节还没有来临,但是空气渐渐变得黏稠,犹如锅里慢火熬制的麦芽糖,由稀变稠,而后再凝固。昏黄的灯光下,同学们逐个道出心中的隐秘——犹如小时候令 I am a man without any story. Classmates, the last day closed in the room, the host forced everyone to provide the original crush when reading the object. In the light of spring, in the sunshine, the whole world looks like it is packed in a transparent glass container. People trapped inside, like their own production, slowly frozen in the refrigerator orange ice cream filling heart. The slimy season has not come yet, but the air gradually becomes sticky, just like the slow-heat maltose in the pan, thick and thin, and then solidified. Dim light, the students one by one out of the hidden secrets - like a child’s order