Street rain

my window, there was a street lamp, yellow, dark, high above the stands, but just head down [link widoczny dla zalogowanych], looking at the foot of the road.
I often lie on the windowsill, through the dim light, look to the black Hong Mei. Perhaps, is looking for too long, I close my eyes, eyes are still light Flurry moths flutter, or temporary lights shining rain.
summer night, Grandpa will move out of a bamboo chair, waving palm-leaf fan, enjoy the cool air in the lamp, and I, will tear up the newspaper, bunched up into small groups, an upstairs window, one by one to cast him in the grandfather.
later, the light, the only bamboo chair.
I'm still the little ball of paper one by one, thrown down the door and then looked back, I wish, troublesome grandfather, but also rushed up the stairs to hit me in the ass.
However, no grandfather, the only lodge in the street alone, still head down, staring at the foot of the road.
stricken body on the street, there are many childish graffiti, which is also my work.
my paintings [link widoczny dla zalogowanych], is spell is a spell so that he quickly lit, as he lit the sky will be dark, a flock of beautiful birds will across the sky above me, not into the west woods.
dim light, poured in Qinghei the wall, I am bored, so start counting the brick wall, from the lintel of the lateral, the number of the ruins of the gap.
my number every day, because, from time to time, their number turned out differently.
day, as if that brick, block by block, day by day, piled into a wall. But, because the further away gradually separated, the brick above, will slowly do not know the following when this strange increasingly heavy, the walls bear the negative, it will rust failure, collapse.
one another thirteen years [link widoczny dla zalogowanych], built in the south the rainy little town, in my memory, the only light in the rain, and rain in the lights.
perhaps, there is the crumbling wall.
over four thousand seven hundred bricks, is weighing a lot, drift on the outside, and also recognized the carrying on of it?
I bought a bamboo chair, placed in front of the lamp, learn his grandfather, lying is good, Gently rocking the palm-leaf fan, turn our gaze to the second floor, then I'm the window illusion highly anticipated. At that moment, I suddenly understood the original, the grandson and the vicissitudes of tender grandfather, turned out to be with the same mood.
I closed my eyes, eyes that light Flurry moths flutter and temporary lights shining rain, heavy in the night, the long wall. Like a dream, the dream sound, wind, rain, spatula sound, dogs barking, Ruoyouruowu creak sound ... ... my grandfather opened his eyes, and I stuck my head in our eyes the intersection, a tired father is pushing old-fashioned bicycles, walking hobble ... ...

grandfather's grave mound, lonely bamboo chair, a small town in the rain.
I was looking forward to the people, it can certainly look forward to me. In front of the lamp [link widoczny dla zalogowanych], such as the old grandfather.
us all the way forward, forget the back, in fact, behind the lights that dim candle already numerous wind, but also through the years, long to light our way back home.
quiet, warm.

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