雨还是没停，哗啦哗啦敲在店门口的棚子上，声不大，却让人心烦。阿雨正抡着大勺搅面汤，那股子滚烫糊糊的气息混着酱油和猪油的味道，直往鼻子里钻。吧台那边，老王又多抽了一袋烟，报纸摊开的半张脸上，眉头皱得跟打了结似的。“老王，还要点啥？”阿雨头也没抬，眼睛盯着面盆里翻滚的动静。

“没啥，就这豆汁儿，再来个烤鹅头。”老王的声音闷闷的，像是从胸腔里挤出来的。

“马上来。”阿雨应了一声，继续搅面。这雨下得邪乎，都两天了，说是转晴，可天色阴得跟要下雨似的，空气里都是一股子潮乎乎的味儿。

Stirring the noodles, the hot, greasy aroma mixed with soy sauce and lard drifted straight into the nose. At the counter, Old Wang had smoked another pack of cigarettes. The half-open newspaper on his face was furrowed like a knotted rope. "Old Wang, want anything else?" A rain drummed lightly on the store's roof, annoying despite its soft sound.

阿雨 didn't raise his head, his eyes fixed on the boiling noodles in the bowl. The rain had been falling for two days, despite the saying that it would clear up, the sky was still overcast, as if about to rain again. The air was filled with a damp, stuffy smell.

面搅好了，阿雨舀了几勺清汤，浇在面上，又加了一勺猪油，麻酱，辣椒油，最后撒上一把葱花。老王拿起杯子，喝了一大口豆汁儿，咂咂嘴。