The summer before I became an adult, the cicadas were noisy. Looking back, he kept walking around me with his guitar in his arms, so that when he was not around later, I always felt that something was missing.
The man played the guitar very well, and he felt the same as when he spent his days being blown by the warm wind in spring.
But what ultimately reminded me of that day was nothing else but Zhang Ailing's words: "Life is a gorgeous robe covered with lice."