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你已经有一百多天没有回家了,在父亲催你回家的电话里,你为自己一次又一次找着借口,那些借口连一个三岁小孩听起来都认为有些勉强。你任泪水划过男子汉的脸颊,咚咚地落到地上,砸出许多许多豌豆坑;你在心里无数次想起母亲,母亲一年前因为脑溢血去世了。而父亲竟然在108天以前给你找了一个新的母亲,你不能接受父亲在母亲尸骨未寒的情况下,另觅新欢;你更不能接受在失去母亲的伤口上,再撒上一把对陌生女人叫一声妈的盐。一气之下,跑到了城里,在建筑工地里和泥巴。
You have not returned home for more than a hundred days, and you find yourself excused again and again on the phone his father urged you to go home. Those excuses, even a three-year-old child, all seem reluctant to sound. You tear the water across the man’s cheek, plunged to the ground, smashed many pea pit; you countless times in my heart remembered her mother, a year ago because of stroke died. And my father even found a new mother for you 108 days ago. You can not accept that his father found another new love in the bones of his mother. You can not accept the loss of his mother’s wound. Called the mother’s salt. Angrily, went to the city, in the construction site and mud.