这个春天的傍晚,路过一家铁匠铺。街上的鸣笛声持续刺激着耳膜,却掩盖不住叮叮当当时而清脆时而浑厚的敲铁声。那是两个老头,破旧的衣服,面孔和双手被光线和锤子迸射的铁屑织染得黝黑。一个正在打磨小铁盒,一个在抡着看似强有力的臂膀塑造一大块铁皮,若不是满头花白的头发,简直不像年过半百的人,若不是忽来春风拂面,很难想象如此喧闹的现代化马路边还驻留着一家小小的铁铺—黑白铁店。就这样,伫足在铁店的门口,怀揣对沉积着历史感的手工劳作的兴趣,开始了一段有趣却令人感慨的采访。 On this spring evening, pass a blacksmith shop. The whistle on the street continued to stimulate the eardrums, but could not conceal the jingling moment and crisp, sometimes vigorous iron knocking. It was two old men, worn out clothes, dark-skinned with iron filings cast by light and hammer. One is grinding small tin, one in the seemingly powerful arm shaped a large piece of iron, if not the gray hair, simply not as old as half a hundred people, if it is not suddenly spring breeze, it is difficult Imagine such a noisy modern roadside also has a small iron shop - black iron shop. In this way, standing in front of the iron shop, embarked on a sense of the history of the manual work of interest, began a funny but very emotional interview.