一香港,秋夜。黑暗的客厅里,电视机画面发出的彩色流光照着空荡荡的沙发。父亲不在客厅,就一定在阳台上。我推开通往阳台的玻璃门,果然闻到香烟辛辣的味道。10月的香港依然空气湿热。头发已经全白的父亲坐在小木桌前,穿着灰色的棉布睡衣套装,手里捏着一只白色电子烟,面前放着打开的啤酒和中秋没人吃的半块月饼—因为经历过饥荒,他对下酒菜的要求近乎为零,什么剩下了就吃什么。“还挺热啊。”我说。 A Hong Kong, autumn night. In the dark living room, the color flow of the television screen shines on the empty couch. Father is not in the living room, it must be on the balcony. I pushed open the glass door to the balcony, really smell the spicy taste of cigarettes. Hong Kong in October is still hot and humid. His father, with his hair all white, sits at a wooden table wearing a gray cotton pajama suit, holding a white electronic cigarette in his hand, an open beer in front of him and a moon cake half eaten by Mid-Autumn Festival - He is almost zero on the appetizer, what to eat what is left. “Pretty hot,” I said.