老街老村的街道曲折悠长,高低不平,宽窄不一。村子不大,土墙草屋的,散落无章,这儿突出一家,那儿又凹进一户,这家门前有一面小墙,那户门前有一条独自的幽静小巷。在小村里走,也许不经意间,你会走进一个死胡同,抬头看见那堵墙或另一家,那家孩子就咬着指头冲你傻笑,无路可走,就只能摇头笑着退回,再走。 Streets of the old streets of the old twists and turns long, rugged, varying width. The village is small, the soil wall of the cottage, scattered without a rule, here prominent one, there is a concave one, there is a small wall in front of that door in front of a quiet lonely alley. Walk in the village, perhaps inadvertently, you will walk into a dead end, looked up to see the wall or another, the child nibbling at you giggle, no way, you can only shook his head and smiled and returned, and then go.