他在天桥下卖唱,一把二胡,手指弹拨间,那凄凄切切的悲凉,从弦上轻轻流淌下来,引得路人驻足聆听。我每天都必经此处,每次听到这直击人心的哀怨,哪怕时间再紧,也会停下脚步,静静地听上一会儿。我从他的二胡声里感觉到,这个四十上下的中年男人,是一个极爱生活、极爱音乐的人——乞讨只是他生存的依靠,二胡却是他的魂。一天,我在桥下的原址处没见到他,但他的二胡声依然在耳畔回荡。我循声而去, He was singing under the overpass, a erhu, fingers playing dial, desolate desolateness, gently flowing down from the strings, attracted passers-by to stop listening. Every day I pass here, every time I hear the heart-wrenching sadness, even if time is tight, will stop, quietly for a while. I feel from his erhu feeling, this forty middle-aged man, is a very love life, love music - begging only rely on his survival, erhu is his soul. One day, I did not see him at the site under the bridge, but his echoes were still echoing in my ears. I follow the sound away