Changle Road Notes | No. 619 Changle Road

Go north from South Shaanxi Road, turn left into Xinle Road, and the hustle and bustle of traffic and horses on Huaihai Road gradually drifts away. Going further to Xiangyang Park, the onion head of the Orthodox Church at the intersection broke through the cable, overlooking the alleys surrounded by mountains. On both sides of the road, there are some boutiques, and fashionistas gather in a row, sitting on the road and waiting for the shops to open, taking the road as a mirror and taking pictures of themselves in the mirror. It's always a bit of work to get through them, and they're just looking at their own reflections. After the crowd is the Family Mart convenience store. Across the road and the statue of Tian Han in Jiexin Park, the most intuitive fatigue of people is always comforted here after every morning out and late return. Xinle Road stops here, and if you go further, you will reach Changle Road.

Plane trees, cafes, shared bicycles, a missing floor tile on the sidewalk, a gap in the sky filled with clothes poles, and throwing rubbish needs to be sorted. On the rushing Changle Road, an unremarkable old house. The aging of the house comes from the outside in, first the outer walls wrinkle like skin, the door locks loose like teeth, and then the wrinkle climbs the creaky stairs. Therefore, you must be extra gentle and considerate when walking up the stairs. Fortunately, she has not yet reached the age of twilight, and the spread of aging has stopped at the door of the room. The white door has sharp edges and corners, embedded in a background filled with dark yellow oxidation marks. Extending from this are white walls, air conditioners, furniture, and a pot of gardenias that are not growing satisfactorily - all with outlines, fresh Being alive can make life go by, not to mention that there are freshly frozen sodas in the refrigerator. Lock the door of the room, put yourself in the space of this square inch, and the afternoon with nothing to do will pass.

The windows in the room are also old, rusted and not soundproof. Looking at things on the road through the window is like walking into a humid summer with glasses on. The sound is clearly distinguishable, but the images are separated by a layer of heavy and condensed water mist. Hurrying past are people commuting on bicycles, cars blocked by the never-widening road, and sparrows leaping from the roofs of the alleys. The fog gradually thickened, and gradually these disappeared, leaving only the hazy headlights.

At night, Changle Road can be regarded as fulfilling the promise of "Changle Weiyang" in its name. When people who are not sleepy gather in the bar, the wine glass becomes a candle, opening a gap in the eternal night. The loud laughter echoed on the long road, causing ripples in the night. But let alone a night tour of Changle Road, even if you are a person on Changle Road, such eternal happiness is actually a wish but not an option. The laughter is often followed by the clamor of mutual accusations, the clanging of wine bottles, the sound of motorbike engines galloping by. Turning over on the bed by the noise, darkness had soaked through the room, and only the aftermath of the sound was still curling between the walls.

Even on a sunny morning with the perfect wind blowing from the road, the room was still a little gloomy. At this time, I had to open the curtains, and I saw that the sun was softly permeating. The light and shadow scattered through the gaps of the plane trees covered the floor of the room like golden grains of rice. At nine o'clock, the sound of water from the aunt who lived next door was vaguely heard, and the day was starting.

The sun just happened to polish the house number, and the imprint of italics engraved on the iron plate has quietly entered the moss - No. 619 Changle Road.