天津的六月没有雨,空气里弥漫着温热的风;阳光像毒箭,从来不考虑人的喜恶,总是乘人不备时顺着稀疏斑驳的树荫射下来。天空有时候碧蓝。有一天夜里我一边听着胡夏的歌,一边翻着手机相册里那些曾经上了锁的老照片。那些陌生而熟悉的人,有些虽然记得对方的面孔,却一时间叫不出姓名;有些或因为之后的种种巧合,相 There was no rain in June in Tianjin, and there was a warm wind in the air. The sun shone like a poison arrow, never thinking about people’s likes and dislikes, and always shooting down the sparse mottled shade when people were not prepared. Sometimes blue sky. One night I listened to Hu Xia’s song, while turning the phone photo album that had locked the old photos. Those strange and familiar people, although some remember each other’s faces, but for a time unable to name; some or because after the coincidence, phase