走出楼道口,迎面砸来的北风令我皱了皱眉,我赶紧把领子紧了紧,匆匆钻进了车。小区外的街上有很多小贩,却不见几个买者。几个卖水果的老人,在原地来回跺着脚,仿佛要踩出火花似的。我的目光移动着,在一排拥挤的水果摊旁蓦然地发现了那个冷清的、无人问津的土豆饼摊。不知道是因为那个特别的味道,还是昨天买饼时他那个诚恳的眼神,反正,我叫父亲停了车。 Out of the corridor mouth, the face of the north wind hit me frown, I quickly tightened the collar, hurried into the car. There are many hawkers in the street outside the district, but few buyers. Several elderly people selling fruits, back and forth in front of his feet, as if to step on the spark-like. As my eyes moved, I saw the deserted, uncrowded potato pancake stand beside a row of crowded fruit stalls. I do not know because of that special taste, or yesterday, when he bought the cake that sincere eyes, anyway, my father stopped his car.