confront the darkness
In the evening, at a corner of the block, there was a rickety man singing. My mother and I went to see it.
In the early summer, the air was thin, restless and warm, and there were some very old audio equipment, a few CDs, and a low plastic stool on the uneven concrete floor. Because the sound often stopped abruptly, the rickety man moved back and forth with his half-squatted feet under the eyes of everyone. Some words are printed on the white paper in front of the man, and the content can be seen without looking at it.
