At that time, the traffic in Chengdu was still very smooth. Adults rode bicycles to commute in the upstream of the city; Zhongshui dumplings were also 50 cents a bowl, and there were no strange foods. The distribution center for inferior clothing was not Jiulong Square, but a commercial field. The short and damp tunnel can lead to a hustle and bustle of Chunxi Road; there is also a strange building called the Future Overpass near the stadium. The stairs of the overpass stretch out to the sidewalk like an octopus; KFC opened its first store in Chengdu , The children lined up on weekends are overcrowded.
Then I was riding my father's red Jialing motorcycle and passing by the Workers Cinema on Jianshe North Road. I vaguely remember that the theater was a light yellow rectangular building, like the Great Hall of the People in a primary school textbook. Perhaps in fact, the theater is not so majestic and magnificent, but the memory of childhood magnifies the objects as much as possible.
At the entrance of the theater, a large poster of "The Lion King" was hung among the sensual dogs and horses of red men and green women. So, I watched the first animated feature film in my life in the cinema.
The plot and impression of the movie had been forgotten at that time. The only thing I remember is the eight yuan fare, and the little lion Simba speaks Mandarin that is full of Hong Kong and Taiwan flavors.
Then, time passed through sixteen years like vague fragments.
My trajectory is like a lot of vulgar TV plots, plots full of dog blood. I flew from a small place to a big city, met people of all colors, learned how to dress, and changed from being confidant to anyone into a city, and then fell in love, separated, injured, and waited.
In 2009, the traffic in Chengdu has become a block. It turned out that a one-hour bus ride from south to north can take up to two hours; Zhongshui dumplings have risen to five yuan a bowl, and N branches have been opened. You can choose a set meal worth tens of yuan, and the taste has faded away from the memory; various foreign brands have entered the commercial center, and the original down jackets of tens of yuan can be sold for two thousand yuan; the future flyover has long been wiped out; Western fast food blooms in the streets and alleys.
The Workers' Cinema, like the fate of many state-owned enterprises in China, went bankrupt, mergers and acquisitions, auctions, and demolished. Eight thousand one-square-meter commercial and residential buildings were built on the spot, and the hot pot restaurant downstairs was full of enthusiasm.
In 2009, I was 24 years old and came to the United States to live in an old house with a group of alcoholic American students. My hobbies are playing PS3, cooking, surfing the Internet and watching X-movies.
And I always have the illusion that in the hustle and bustle of the country, time always flies recklessly slowly, and memories are frozen like slow motion in various scenes; while life in the United States always flies by, because of the same rhythm. In, it seems that the last yesterday is any day in two years.
When someone leaves your life, life loses its waves and heartbeat, trance, and time drifts away quietly.
On a street corner in the afternoon, I saw the poster of "Lion King", and a nerve in my head bought a ticket nervously as if it had been moved. The same eight yuan, but US dollars. Then suddenly I found myself alone under the huge dark dome.
The morning sun rises from the horizon, the grass field sways in front of your eyes, birds fly over the grassland, and the macaque raises Simba. Then Simba shouted in a strange and familiar tone: Dandy, Dandy...
Under the same starry sky sixteen years later, Mufasa and Simba snuggled on the grassland, discussing the meaning of life. Suddenly, the memory rushed from the closed valve like water, flashback fragments flew past him, and the blurry picture when he was a child was suddenly very clear. In this man's cinema, I suddenly blurred my eyes.
Life is a cycle, and time is an hourglass in the cycle.
This is not only a movie, but also a memory.
Those vague words will be deciphered one day.
That memory that is enclosed in the dust will be unlocked one day.
Those names that are no longer familiar will one day be remembered.
One day, on a rainy evening, that person will meet you on a street corner.
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