论文部分内容阅读
仲夏,碧绿的常青藤铺满了一座20世纪80年代的职工宿舍的外墙。从米白的百叶窗望进去,近成古董的留声机、怀旧的咖啡壶,还有英式的天鹅绒沙发,时间仿佛在这间屋子里凝固了。而这些东西的主人,是一位仿佛与世无争的作家。因为他做什么总是一种慢节奏,所以人们都叫他慢先生。慢的云,慢的风,慢的下午茶,最让慢先生享受的莫过于这些东西了。可是这天,慢先生的下午茶时间突然被刺耳的刹车声扰乱了。楼下来了一部黄色奥迪和一辆搬家公司的车。“快,赶紧搬!”
Midsummer, green ivy covered the facades of a staff dormitory of the 1980s. Looking through the white window blinds, into an antique gramophone, a nostalgic coffee maker, and an English velvet sofa, time seems to have solidified in this room. And the owner of these things, is a seemingly uncontested writer. Because he always do a slow pace, so people call him slow. Slow clouds, slow wind, slow afternoon tea, the most gentleman enjoy these things. But on this day, Mr. Slow’s tea time suddenly disturbed by the harsh brake noise. Downstairs came a yellow Audi and a moving company car. “Fast, quickly move!”