吧唧小熊

流年:

全部都是简单的词汇，但是却意外地描绘出了巴黎街头的特别感觉。


Below the window of my apartment in Paris, a music man takes a place made vacant by an early musician . He raises the lid of his barrel organ and turns the handle. Then he sings the songs of the old Paris ,songs of the people and their love affairs. I remember some of the words even though I have never consciously learnt them. I tap my feet and sing along with him. Down there on the pavement, few passersby stop. Some smile, others walk past with their heads down. Cars passes, gangs of boys form and disappear, someone even puts a coin in the cup on the organ. But the music man ignores them all. He's hot in the sun, so he mops his head with a spotted handkerchief. He just kept singing and turning the handle.