她说自己来自一个小镇,一个没有咖啡屋只有米酒的小镇。咖啡屋开在街角,青石板路尽头的那个街角。咖啡屋的玻璃橱窗前放了一把蓝色的木椅,她说可以透过橱窗看游人的背影,可我望出去的时候觉得似乎另有深意。咖啡屋门口边的柱子上挂了一块小黑板,每一天是不一样的寄语。她说,那是她对生命的告白。玻璃窗上挂满了明信片,来自不同国家,写着不同语言,还有一些是她自己寄回来的。 She said she came from a small town, a town without coffee and only rice wine. Coffee shop opened in the corner, the end of the bluestone road that corner. She put a blue wooden chair in front of the glass window of the coffee shop and she said she could see the back of the visitor through the window. However, I thought it might seem that there was another meaning when I looked out. There was a small blackboard hung on the pillar beside the door of the coffee shop, which was not the same message every day. She said it was her confession of life. Glass windows covered with postcards, from different countries, written in different languages, and some are sent back by her own.