“So we start for New Orleans past iridescent lakes and orange gas flares...and swamps and garbage heaps..alligators crawling around in broken bottles and tin cans...neon arabesques of motels...marooned pimps scream obscenities at passing cars from islands of rubbish. New Orleans is a dead museum.” 写作的high 没磕过药怎能知道
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清白河上飞鸟
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