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夏日炎炎，她坐在装饰得很好的冷气开得很足的房间里，啜着咖啡，看着小说。
她年轻美丽，大学毕业做了一家文学杂志的编辑，兴致来时也写些优雅的散文。二十多年的日子一直很顺。
但很久以来她的内心深处就存有一个梦想，想到远方去流浪。她向往遥远，向往广袤，盼望不可知的旅途将自己带到不可知的地方。“假如有一个游人正好路过我的窗前，那就是命运注定我要随他去流浪……”在新近写的《流浪的等待》的文章中她这样说。
《流浪的等待》恰好就发表在这天的晨报副刊上，晨报张贴在街头的阅报栏里，阅报栏前此刻有一双眼睛正留意着这些句子。一个流浪者在这个休息日的静悄悄的早晨，来到了这座城市。
流浪者忽然很想找到文章的作者，他按照版面上登的电话号码找到了编辑。值班的女编辑觉得双休日打扰作者似乎不妥，就说：“你要找她当然可以，能不能等两天，等她上班再……”流浪者说：“不行啊，你知道两天有多么漫长。”女编辑听他言辞恳切，想了想说：“那么请你等两分钟，待我把她的传呼号码找出来。”
流浪者说：“两分钟也太长了，请你千万快一点……”电话断了。
流浪者打的是街头的投币电话，他用完了最后一枚硬币，已身无分文。
流浪者取出随身携带的一套自行车修理工具，在路边摆开。这是他流浪时的经济来源。
此刻他希望马上做成一笔生意，挣出打电话的钱。
可一直等到太阳升高开始射出炙人烈焰时，他还干坐着。他忽然想起方才女编辑说过今天好像是个休息日，这个城市的人，包括《流浪的等待》的作者在内，有什么理由不待在凉爽的空调房里面而骑车到太阳底下来闲逛？
当他终于再次拨通电话时，值班的女编辑已经走了。此前她很负责任地找出作者的传呼号，摆在电话机旁。她等了他一整天。
那个年轻美丽的向往流浪的女作者后来知道，当自己坐在空调间啜咖啡看小说时，果真有一个旅者正好路过了自己的窗前，但她十分明白自己注定无法随他去流浪，她和他注定只能擦肩而过。
不是吗？他不可能等她，对于一个艰辛的流浪者来说，两天，甚至两分钟的等待都太长太长。
因为流浪岁月的每一分钟，都需要用生命来坚持。只有在现代城市文明的温暖怀抱中，才可以不在乎两分钟、两天、一个夏天乃至整个一生的时间来等待流浪以及别的什么，这种等待，太舒服了呀。
On a sweltering summer day she sat in a luxuriously decorated room with air-conditioning on in full, sipping coffee and reading a novel.
She was an editor, young and pretty, working with a literary magazine after she graduated from a university. She would write refined prose when she felt in the mood. She had never met with setbacks in the past two decades.
However for a long time she had dreamt of roaming over a distant land. She longed for going far away to see a vast world, hoping the unknown journey would take her to an unknown place. " If a traveler happens to pass my window, it is fate that decides I’ll wander with him..." she claimed in her newly written prose.
As chance would have it her prose was published that day on the literature page of the Morning Post, which was posted on the newspaper window in the street. A man was standing before the newspaper reading the sentences of her prose. He was a tramp that came to the city on the quiet Saturday morning.
All of a sudden an idea occurred to him. He found a coin-operated phone in the street, dialed the number of the literature page and told the woman editor on duty that he wanted to call the prose writer. Thinking it improper to disturb the writer on holidays, the editor said," Of course you may call her but can you wait for two days till she comes to work?" The tramp said, " No, I can’t. You know two days is a very long period of time." Impressed by his sincerity, the editor thought for a moment and then said, " Wait for two minutes, please. I’ll find her pager number."
" Be quick, please!" he implored. "Two minutes is also very long to me..." But his phone was disconnected.
Having dropped his last coin in the slot of the phone, he was penniless.
He took out a set of bicycle-repairing tools that he carried with him and put it on the roadside. As a wanderer he lived by repairing bicycles.
He eagerly hoped a customer would come right now so that he could have money to call the woman editor again.
He waited and waited but nobody came. He still sat alone when the flaming sun rose high up in the sky. He suddenly remembered the woman editor had told him it was a holiday that day, when people of the city including the prose writer would rather stay in their air-conditioned rooms than go riding bicycles with the sun blazing down on them...
她年轻美丽，大学毕业做了一家文学杂志的编辑，兴致来时也写些优雅的散文。二十多年的日子一直很顺。
但很久以来她的内心深处就存有一个梦想，想到远方去流浪。她向往遥远，向往广袤，盼望不可知的旅途将自己带到不可知的地方。“假如有一个游人正好路过我的窗前，那就是命运注定我要随他去流浪……”在新近写的《流浪的等待》的文章中她这样说。
《流浪的等待》恰好就发表在这天的晨报副刊上，晨报张贴在街头的阅报栏里，阅报栏前此刻有一双眼睛正留意着这些句子。一个流浪者在这个休息日的静悄悄的早晨，来到了这座城市。
流浪者忽然很想找到文章的作者，他按照版面上登的电话号码找到了编辑。值班的女编辑觉得双休日打扰作者似乎不妥，就说：“你要找她当然可以，能不能等两天，等她上班再……”流浪者说：“不行啊，你知道两天有多么漫长。”女编辑听他言辞恳切，想了想说：“那么请你等两分钟，待我把她的传呼号码找出来。”
流浪者说：“两分钟也太长了，请你千万快一点……”电话断了。
流浪者打的是街头的投币电话，他用完了最后一枚硬币，已身无分文。
流浪者取出随身携带的一套自行车修理工具，在路边摆开。这是他流浪时的经济来源。
此刻他希望马上做成一笔生意，挣出打电话的钱。
可一直等到太阳升高开始射出炙人烈焰时，他还干坐着。他忽然想起方才女编辑说过今天好像是个休息日，这个城市的人，包括《流浪的等待》的作者在内，有什么理由不待在凉爽的空调房里面而骑车到太阳底下来闲逛？
当他终于再次拨通电话时，值班的女编辑已经走了。此前她很负责任地找出作者的传呼号，摆在电话机旁。她等了他一整天。
那个年轻美丽的向往流浪的女作者后来知道，当自己坐在空调间啜咖啡看小说时，果真有一个旅者正好路过了自己的窗前，但她十分明白自己注定无法随他去流浪，她和他注定只能擦肩而过。
不是吗？他不可能等她，对于一个艰辛的流浪者来说，两天，甚至两分钟的等待都太长太长。
因为流浪岁月的每一分钟，都需要用生命来坚持。只有在现代城市文明的温暖怀抱中，才可以不在乎两分钟、两天、一个夏天乃至整个一生的时间来等待流浪以及别的什么，这种等待，太舒服了呀。
On a sweltering summer day she sat in a luxuriously decorated room with air-conditioning on in full, sipping coffee and reading a novel.
She was an editor, young and pretty, working with a literary magazine after she graduated from a university. She would write refined prose when she felt in the mood. She had never met with setbacks in the past two decades.
However for a long time she had dreamt of roaming over a distant land. She longed for going far away to see a vast world, hoping the unknown journey would take her to an unknown place. " If a traveler happens to pass my window, it is fate that decides I’ll wander with him..." she claimed in her newly written prose
As chance would have it her prose was published that day on the literature page of the Morning Post, which was posted on the newspaper window in the street. A man was standing before the newspaper reading the sentences of her prose. He was a tramp that came to the city on the quiet Saturday morning.
All of a sudden an idea occurred to him. He found a coin-operated phone in the street, dialed the number of the literature page and told the woman editor on duty that he wanted to call the prose writer. Thinking it improper to disturb the writer on holidays, the editor said," Of course you may call her but can you wait for two days till she comes to work?" The tramp said, " No, I can’t. You know two days is a very long period of time." Impressed by his sincerity, the editor thought for a moment and then said, " Wait for two minutes, please. I’ll find her pager number."
" Be quick, please!" he implored. "Two minutes is also very long to me..." But his phone was disconnected.
Having dropped his last coin in the slot of the phone, he was penniless.
He took out a set of bicycle-repairing tools that he carried with him and put it on the roadside. As a wanderer he lived by repairing bicycles.
He eagerly hoped a customer would come right now so that he could have money to call the woman editor again.
He waited and waited but nobody came. He still sat alone when the flaming sun rose high up in the sky. He suddenly remembered the woman editor had told him it was a holiday that day, when people of the city including the prose writer would rather stay in their air-conditioned rooms than go riding bicycles with the sun blazing down on them...