Chapter 1160

Standing on the side of the stage, Levine casually put the guitar in the corner of the wall, fumbled up and down his pocket, found a cigarette box, pulled out a cigarette, put it in the pocket, but it had been squeezed, scattered some tobacco leaves, and the cigarette became crumpled. But he doesn't care.

He casually took it to his mouth, leaned on the wall and rubbed his hair impatiently. He was thinking about where to stay tonight.

Those who are friends but not friends have been sleeping around for a while. It seems that they are all offended. Should we hook up with a woman as we did last night, and then go to her home to sleep for a night? Otherwise, I'd better try my luck at the professor's home. They are always generous and kind. Seeing his downcast appearance, they should not have the heart to refuse.

For a while, I thought of the performance tomorrow. I don't know if Pioneer Village is willing to give him a chance to perform, but the bar owner is a stupid jazz lover, who seems not interested in folk songs; Or try another bar. Maybe he can try another song.

"Fire?" There was an inquiry in my ear.

He did not turn his head, but gently shook his head to show his refusal, gently bit the cigarette holder, "will be on the stage soon."

"Why, are you worried about pappi's blame?" Pappy, the name of the barman.

He couldn't help laughing, "No." Pausing for a moment, he understated, "just because of the performance." Although this is an ordinary performance, he insists on being professional as much as possible during the performance.

Suddenly he thought of something. He turned his head and looked at the bartender beside him. "I haven't found a place to stay tonight. How about going to your house to make do for one night?" They are not familiar with it, but try it and there is no loss“ I'm a very quiet sleeper, and I'm not picky, just a sofa and a blanket, if you have heating in your house. "

The bartender didn't say anything. He didn't seem to expect that he would make such a request. They didn't even say a few words.

He didn't mind. He bit his cigarette holder again, as if he was tasting the light bitterness of tobacco leaves. Then he stuffed the cigarette into his shirt pocket and turned his mouth. "I guess you don't have heating at home." Make complaints about it, then pick up the guitar, walk up the stage, leave the bartender standing in the same place, and face confused, and do not seem to know what has happened.

In the bar, the whispering noise is still buzzing, some people are enjoying dinner, some people are drinking beer, some people are lighting cigarettes, no one seems to notice his appearance.

But it doesn't matter.

He sat down skillfully, began to tune habitually, listened to the string, felt the power of his fingertips, and then began to play. I decided to sing "hang me, oh, hang me" tonight.

Perhaps, this is the most appropriate track, not only because his partner Mickey just passed away, in the way of suicide, that idiot; And because it suits the mood tonight, it doesn't seem like a bad thing to go to the gallows.

Humming softly, gradually immersed in his own world, "God, I can't see it." is this talking about Mickey or himself? Or... Every poor guy who performs folk songs? Or are they the idiots carrying rifles to the battlefield? The smile on the corner of the mouth rose involuntarily, helpless and sarcastic.

After singing a song, there were a few applause and whistles from the audience. Lonely and empty, deep in his heart filled with large pieces of loneliness, dragging his ankle slowly down, he took a deep breath, all the emotions are strictly hidden, half jokingly said, "you may have heard this song before."

But the action in the hand did not stop, quickly packed up their own things, leaving the last sentence, "if a song, never new, but never out of date, it is a folk song."

There was a light laugh under the stage. He raised the corner of his mouth, raised his right hand, and then left the stage with his guitar.

Today's performance is over. In the kerosene lantern bar, the performance time of a song is very precious, because this is the most popular bar in Greenwich Village. The folk singer who longs for stage performance is like a sardine group that moves in winter.

There came a middle-aged man with a slovenly beard, with a satisfied smile on his face, "wonderful, very wonderful." This is Ethan Cohen, he remembers“ Joel and I just confirmed that all the shooting is over. The first scene is perfect. God, we can't believe it. Tonight's performance is really wonderful. "

Ethan patted him on the arm. "Now, we can call it a day. But, Stanley said just now, you are going to give a short performance to thank the fans and fans who are here? Is that so? If that's the case, it would be great. It's a pleasure for all of us. "

Ethan is smiling and excited. "Joel just said that the time of a song is too short. Maybe we should shoot a concert. Ha But then he noticed that his words were not answered, "what do you think? Or do you feel too tired now? If so, it doesn't matter. I believe you will understand. "

"No, it's OK. I just wanted to have a cigarette, but... Smoking can wait. " He picked his eyebrows, and a smile flowed from his eyes, but the smile was fleeting, and a touch of self mocking bitterness and irony flowed out. "Now who can refuse the invitation to perform in the kerosene lamp bar? At least I can't. I'll be on the stage again now. "

Ethan stood in the same place, slightly stunned.

He ignored Ethan, turned around, stepped onto the stage again, sat down in front of the microphone and said, "Hey, I'm back."

He took a long breath and rubbed his hair again. The messy hair was completely out of control, but the light during the interlacing period vaguely outlined the natural and lazy between the eyebrows. A trace of irritability was invisible. Finally, with a deep breath, it completely disappeared and turned into a smile at the corner of his mouth.

"I thought, maybe tonight, we can spend a few more songs together." He hugged the guitar again and seemed to fall into his own mind.

I don't know why. I always think of Mickey tonight. He doesn't know why Mickey chose to end his life, and he doesn't know why Mickey chose to give up. Or maybe he knows, but he doesn't want to face it.

The sixties, the long sixties, the dark and humid years, the bitter and confused time, the depressed and bumpy life are like drowning and suffocating. When can they break through the water and get out of the sixties? However, it's 1961 now, and the distant end can't be seen at all. It's just a blank.

He couldn't help being a little dazed. How long can this dream last?

"But it's no longer hanging and hanging. Let's have something else." His words made the bar ring low laughter, and then did not continue to speak, fingertips began to gently outline the strings, irregular chords in the chaos gradually found the order of the law, and finally gathered into a gurgling stream, passing through the mist.

The light string music is like a sika deer running and jumping happily in the jungle and mountain stream. Little by little, it pokes away the morning fog to find the quiet lake in the deep mountains and dense forests. A thin ray of sunlight is like the sky light, which is scattered on the calm lake. Magically, the flowers are in full bloom, the colors are colorful, the fog is surging, and the paradise is quiet and moving.

This is a strange melody. I never listen to it. Gradually, the whole bar quiets down, and all my eyes are still on the figure. The murmur of time seems to ring in my ears, but it completely loses its meaning. Ten thousand years is just a blink of an eye.

Calm eyes, calm expression, calm atmosphere, it seems that all the steps are light, even the breathing noise disappeared in the breeze; But the bitterness and melancholy between the faint but in the light and shadow, little by little dense open, people can't help but start to explore, that Wang eyes deep story and scar.

Light sadness, like the blue sky in March, only a few clouds sparsely and lazily across the sky.

"Come on, the skinny love only lasted for one year; Add a little salt, and we're not that good. God, God, God, God, staring at the pool of blood and camouflage everywhere

The drooping eyelids cover the thrilling eyes; The husky voice reveals the deep undercurrent of the soul. Then, the fingertips began to sweep the strings quickly, the melody became lighter and lighter, the rhythm became more and more surging, but the heart became more and more precipitated, and slowly sank in the clear lake.

It's freezing.

A "my God" (my) ", forbearance and sigh, but in the battle of love in retreat, helpless.

At this moment, the whole world is quiet, listening, love fragmented sound, slight but heavy, split in an instant, just like the collapse of the world.

Different from "hang me, oh, hang me" unrestrained and vicissitudes of life bitter, this piece of fresh and natural and light release in the melody, but behind the revealed sadness and melancholy, but in that weightless singing, slowly permeate out.

In the sixties, the sky was gray, everything was forbearing, everything was unrestrained, everything was gray, everything was chaotic, they were running wantonly, trying to chase the illusory... Freedom and dream, justice and conscience, but chasing, they lost their way, and then, standing in the same place, they were at a loss.

In order to protect their inner frailty, they armed themselves with unruly and rebellious, pretending that they didn't care about everything, as if they would never be hurt again.

"My God, my God, my God."