只是深院旧巷,青石板街,石缝间挣扎出的嫩草,悬挂着滴着水的腌菜的门廊。没有多余的如潮涌至的人群,红墙绿瓦的俗气,放眼愈窄的巷里,唯我一人了。踏步在斑驳岁月筑成的石路上,脚底的石块因反复的践踏而泛出黑亮的光泽。无比脆弱的空间,不会在乎我一个人的存在。眼前的景象在渐散开的雾霭中愈发清晰了:空置 Only the old courtyard Lane, Qing Shiban Street, struggling out of stone between the tender grass, hanging dripping pickles porch. There is no surging crowds, the tacky red walls and the narrower alley, only I am alone. Stepped in the mottled years built stone road, the foot of the stone due to repeated trampling and glow of black luster. Very fragile space, do not care about my existence. The sight in front of the increasingly diffused haze more clear: vacant