晚饭时父亲喝酒,一小口一小口地抿着。白炽灯大概即将寿终正寝,光线有一点儿泛黄,因此父亲浑身被陈旧的光包裹着,皱纹一道道被描摹得很是分明。他用筷子拨弄着碟子里的花生米,竹与瓷清脆地撞击,带一点颤颤的尾音,似乎有什么在他身后潺潺流着。岁月静好。 His father drank wine at dinner, sip a small mouth to mouth. Incandescent light is about to come to an end, the light a little yellowing, so his father was covered with old light, wrinkles, a road was traced is very clear. He used the chopsticks to fiddle with the peanuts in the plate, and the criss-crossed bamboo and porcelain with a little chattering tail seemed to have something running around him. Good old days.