The alley is curled up in a corner of the ancient city, like an old cat taking a nap with its eyes narrowed.
The alley is actually a small street with a formal name. However, I am used to calling it "alley" because it is really not much wider than the eight-pound alleys it has.
In the alley are some red brick or wooden houses covered with moss on the eaves and at the corners, and there are a few dilapidated huts even made of bark. The road in the alley is not wide, and the widest is only one meter. It has twists and turns. Sometimes, when you see that there is no road, you bend sideways and walk past a low eave and enter someone's backyard. So, although The people living in the alleys all have urban residents listed on their household registrations, but they are just as tolerant of the nuisance of strangers passing by as the people in the village. The latest facilities in the alleys are the crooked green iron boxes hanging in every house, painted the kind of green commonly used in post offices, but whether they are mailboxes or cable television boxes, the people living in the alleys have never been able to figure out.
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