骄阳似火,连空气仿佛都呈黏稠状,知了也只剩下懒散的尾音。坐在三轮车上,我任天气控制我的心情,内心一片烦躁。
Scorching sun, even the air seems to be thick, cicadas are only left with lazy ending. Sitting on the tricycle, I let the weather control my mood, and I was upset.
百无聊赖的我仔细打量着前面的三轮车夫,这是一个中年汉子,长袖的军服绿到偏黑,厚重的裤子高高卷起,脚上拖着一双旧拖鞋,每踏一下,随之发出“吱呀”的一声,脚后跟晒得发白,但皱痕处仍旧藏污纳垢,一条大峡谷似的裂痕一直蜿蜒到深处,血丝隐约可见,暗旧的手把见证了这辆车的年迈,本该挂车牌的地方却挂着一个破旧的筐,里面放着几个空瓶子。听这个车夫唱着不知名的小曲——使人无法理解的方言,却透着掩饰不住的好心情。
Bored, I carefully looked at the three wheeler driver in front of me. This was a middle-aged man. His long sleeve uniform was green to black, his thick pants were rolled up high, and he dragged an old pair of slippers on his feet. Every time he stepped on them, he made a "creak" sound. His heel was white, but there was still dirt in the crease. A crack like a grand canyon had been winding to the deep, and the blood was faint See, the dark old handle witnessed the old age of the car, but there was a shabby basket with several empty bottles in it where the license plate should have been hung. Listening to the rickshaw puller singing an unknown ditty - an incomprehensible dialect, he was in a good mood.
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