The Republic of China, in the memory of Tang Opera, was an uneven time.
That year, the man came riding a bamboo horse, dressed in elegant costumes, and sang all the joys and sorrows. In the end, he sang the song to the end.
The dusty costumes are buried under the wardrobe, and the photos of young people have already turned yellow.
On warm days, he hugged his cat and lay on a recliner listening to old records.
I can't remember the man's appearance clearly. I just remember that when I was young, the young man whipped his whip and the angry horse wore fresh clothes.