一条老巷,氤氲着酒香。踏过有些潮湿的留下些许苔痕的台阶,绕过被红绸子封了盖的酿米酒的大缸,耳边传过纯地方口音的略显沙哑的吆喝“冬米糖哎……”既而看见一个老汉轻轻放下左肩的扁担,换至右肩,又渐行渐远……记忆里那段被尘封的温暖的记忆打开了……“咯吱……”推开古铜色的木门, An old lane, wandering with wine. Stepped on some damp to leave a little mark of the stairs, bypassing the vat of wine stuffed with red silk sealed cover, the ears passing purely hoarse cries of purely local accent “winter rice sugar hey ... ”So I saw an old gentleman gently put down the pole on his left shoulder, to the right shoulder, but also drifting away ... ... memory of the dusty warm memories that opened ... ...“ creak ... ”push the bronze wooden doors ,