ochre rows

Rounding the corner between 国子监 Guozijian and 方家胡同 Fangjia Hutong was always good for 邂逅 (a chance encounter) with the 吼卖 man (singing street peddler). The interval of time caused by the narrowness of a hutong doorway and the speed of my bike was good for a gestalt of all the goings-on-about-town. Barreling through the last warren of alleyways the composite wrought of old men spinning diabolos, cicada and cricket bricolage, huddled chess mobs and the throbbing of motors and electronics — I caught and reworked it best I could, tried to capture how it rattles about in ones mind symphonic; how after you've retired to the blue still of wherever you may abide adumbrations of the day rise up like phantasms in echoes and afterthoughts.

在国子监和方家胡同之间的转角，总能与吆喝的街头小贩不期而遇。胡同狭窄，我因此无法骑快，而这间隙，正好让我发现了在这城市不断上演的故事里的完美补充。横冲直撞，通过上一个胡同里密集口时，老人们在一起抖空竹，或者围成一圈下象棋，蝉与蟋蟀在一旁鸣叫，各样的声音混杂一起，和着车辆和电器的发出的声响－我录下了这些声响，又尽力重新编辑了一下，试图找到它如何在你的脑海里如交响乐般演奏；夜幕降临，无论你身处何方，白天的痕迹依然挥之不去，像幽魂般在脑海里不断呈现。