Standing on the side of the stage, Levien casually placed the guitar in the corner, groped up and down his pocket, found the cigarette case, and took out a cigarette, which was already squeezed out in the pocket, and some tobacco leaves were scattered sporadically, and the cigarette became crumpled. He didn't care, though.

Holding it casually to his lips, leaning his back against the wall, he rubbed his hair irritably, and his mind was thinking about where he should spend the night tonight.

Those who are not friends have already spent the night, and all seem to be offended, should they hook up/hook up with a woman like last night, and then go to her house to sleep for a night?

For a while, I thought about tomorrow's performance. I don't know if the pioneer village would give him a chance to perform, but the bar owner was a stupid jazz lover who didn't seem interested in folk songs, or he could try it out at another bar, and maybe he could try another piece of music.

"Fire?" said an inquiry.

He didn't turn his head, just shook his head lightly to show his refusal, and bit the cigarette holder gently, "I'm about to take the stage." ”

"What, are you worried that Pappi is to blame?" Papi, the name of the bar owner.

He couldn't help but laugh dumbly, "No. After a pause, he explained lightly, "Just because of the performance." "Although this is an ordinary performance, it is a little bit of his insistence to be as professional as possible during the performance.

Suddenly thinking of something, he turned his head and looked at the bartender beside him, "I haven't found a place to stay tonight, how about it, can I come to your house for a night?" "I'm a very quiet sleeper, and I'm not fussy, a sofa and a blanket will do, provided you have heating in your home. ”

The bartender did not speak, and froze in place, as if he had not expected such a request, and they had not even said a few words.

He didn't mind, and bit the cigarette holder again, as if tasting the faint bitterness of the tobacco leaves, then stuffed the cigarette into his shirt pocket and pouted, "I guess, your house is not heated." He complained, then picked up his guitar and walked quickly onto the stage, leaving the bartender standing in place, his face full of confusion, as if he didn't know what was going on.

In the bar, the noise was still buzzing, someone was enjoying dinner, someone was drinking beer, someone was lighting a cigarette, and no one seemed to notice his presence.

But it doesn't matter.

He sat down expertly, habitually began to tune the strings, listened intently to the strings, felt the strength of his fingertips, and then began to play. Tonight decided to sing "Hang Me, Oh, Hang Me".

Perhaps this is the most appropriate track, not only because his partner Mickey has just died, in the form of suicide, the idiot, but also because it suits the mood of the evening, and it doesn't seem like a bad thing to go to the gallows now.

Humming softly, gradually immersed in his own world, "God pity me", is this talking about Mickey, or is it talking about himself?...... Every poor guy who performs a ballad? Is it any other fool who carries a rifle to the battlefield? The smile on the corner of his mouth involuntarily rises, helplessly mocking.

After the song was sung, there was sparse applause from the audience, and a few whistling sounds. Lonely and empty, a large area of loneliness welled up in his heart, dragging his ankles and slowly falling, he took a deep breath, hid all his emotions tightly, and said half-jokingly, "You may have heard this song before. ”

And the movements in his hands did not stop, and he quickly packed up his things, leaving the last sentence, "If a song has never been new, but it has never been outdated, it is a ballad." ”

There was a chuckle from the audience, and he couldn't help but raise the corners of his mouth, raised his right hand for a brief gesture, and then left the stage with his guitar.

At the end of the day, time is precious to perform a song at the Kerosene Lamp Bar, which is the most popular pub in Greenwich Village, and the folk singers eager to take the stage are like schools of sardines migrating in winter.

A middle-aged man with a sloppy beard walked up to him, with a satisfied smile on his face, "Wonderful, very exciting." 'It's Ethan Cohen, he remembers. "Joel and I just checked that all the filming was over, the first scene was perfect, and God, we couldn't believe it was a great show tonight. ”

Ethan patted his arm, "Now, we can call it a day." But, Stanley just said, you're going to put on a short performance, thank you to the fans and fans who are there? Is that so? If that's the case, that's great, it's a treat for all of us. ”

Ethan smiled and couldn't hide his excitement, "Joel was just saying that the time of a song is really too short, perhaps, we should shoot a concert." Ha. But then, he noticed that his words were not answered, "What do you think?" Or are you feeling too tired right now, and if so, that's okay, I'm sure you'll understand." ”

"No, it's fine. I just wanted to smoke a cigarette, but ...... Smoking can wait. He raised an eyebrow, and a smile welled in his eyes, but the smile was fleeting, and a self-deprecating bitterness and sarcasm flowed out, "Who can refuse an invitation to perform at the kerosene lamp bar now? I'll be on stage again now. ”

Ethan stood in place, slightly stunned.

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

He let out a long breath and rubbed his hair again, the messy hair was completely out of control, but the light during the interlacing period faintly outlined the chic and languid between the eyebrows, a trace of irritability was slightly invisible, and finally, with a deep breath, it completely disappeared, turning into a light smile at the corner of his mouth.

"I thought, maybe tonight, we can spend a few more songs together. He hugged his guitar again, seemingly caught up in his own thoughts.

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 knew, but he just didn't want to face it.

The sixties, the long sixties, the dark and damp years, the bitter and dazed time, the oppressive and rough life, like drowning and suffocation, when will they break through the water and rush out of the sixties? But now it is only 1961, and there is no end in sight to the distant end, just a blank place.

He couldn't help but be a little stunned. How long can this dream last?

"But, no more hanging and hanging, let's have something else. His words sent a low laugh to the bar, and then he didn't speak any further, his fingertips began to gently outline the strings, and the irregular chords gradually found order in the chaos, and finally converged into a babbling stream that ran through the mist.

The light string notes are like sika deer running and jumping happily in the jungle mountain stream, little by little to remove the morning mist, find a quiet lake in the deep mountains and dense forests, a thin ray of sunlight like the sky sprinkled on the calm lake, magically, flowers blooming, colorful, fog surging, as quiet and moving as a paradise.

It was an unfamiliar melody that had never been listened to, and gradually, the whole bar fell silent, and all eyes fell motionless on the figure, and the murmur of time seemed to tinkle in the ears, but it completely lost its meaning, and ten thousand years were only a blink of an eye.

The calm eyes, the light and breezy expression, the calm aura, it seems that everything has lightened its pace, and even the noise of breathing has disappeared into the breeze, but the faint bitterness and sorrow are blurred little by little in the light and shadow, and people can't help but begin to explore the stories and scars in the depths of those eyes.

A faint sadness, like a blue sky in March, with only a few brushstrokes of clouds sparsely and lazily streaked across the sky.

"Forget it, this Skinny-Love has only lasted a year, and with a little salt, we're not going to do that. Oh my God, oh my God, staring blankly at pools of blood and disguises everywhere. ”

The drooping eyelids concealed the thrilling of those eyes, and the hoarse voice revealed the dark tide in the depths of the soul. Then, the fingertips began to move the strings rapidly, the melody became more and more brisk, the rhythm became more and more surging, but the heart became more and more precipitated, slowly sinking in the crystal clear lake.

Icy chilling.

A sentence of "oh my God", forbearance and sighing, but in this battle of love, he was defeated and helpless.

At this moment, the whole world fell silent, listening attentively, the sound of love shattering, slight but heavy, fell apart in an instant, as if the world collapsed.

Different from the chic and uninhibited and vicissitudes of life of "Hang Me, Oh, Hang Me", the freshness, naturalness and lightness of this track are interpreted between the melodies, but the sadness and melancholy revealed behind it slowly seep out in the weighty singing.

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

In order to protect the fragility deep inside, they arm themselves with unruliness and rebelliousness, pretending that everything does not care, and it seems that they will not be harmed again.

"Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God. ”