Description of the city of fine prose to appreciate: the city reflection
The gray sky, is the bottom color of the city. The more cloudless it is, the easier it is to see the gray haze carrying the sinking and floating, and the clearer it is to see the light smoke curling up above the factories and streets. Cloudless days are rare, and only then is the city like a dusty woman who has removed her makeup, showing a rare true face. The city's tiredness is evident, and all kinds of flavors are no longer available.
People in the city are very busy. Even if they are not busy, they pretend to be busy, this is their culture. Men often tell their wives that they have to work overtime, even if they are going to the restaurant to drink, go to the teahouse to play cards, or go to what KTV, RTV or nightclubs for fun. This is how many important businesses are negotiated, and how some of the city's most important decisions are made.
The city dresses itself up as a foreigner, and the foreigner is the foreigner, and the foreigner's trademarks and signboards are all over the place. Some are obviously domestic, but also have to call what? Marco Polo? The city has a lot of people who are not familiar with it. Versailles? Versailles? Paris left bank? And so on. Do not seem to keep up with the times.
Women in the city use Chanel perfume and carry LV bags. If you don't know about LV, then you are either brain-dead or outdated. This is a luxury brand from France, the price of each bag from 5,000 yuan to jump. LV to meet the city people a little vanity, this vanity for the European group of people who came to China to defend intellectual property rights, at first it is really difficult to understand. Later, after seeing the fake LV finished products and noting the mouth-watering prices, they couldn't help but also secretly buy a few in the city street stalls.
The city's foreign style is placed there, a glance can be seen through. There are more and more foreigners in the city, black, white, brown, all kinds of skin color. What about the languages, Persian, English, French, Spanish, Portuguese, and broken Chinese, in short, everything you can think of. These foreign languages are mixed with the national language and local dialects, as if the piano box is whistling and roaring, lively. People in the city are used to it, and proudly consider their city the center of globalization.
Most of these foreigners are businessmen, and their lives consist of nothing more than eating, drinking, and sleeping. But there are exceptions. Last year, some bored people actually took the trouble to measure the air pollution index in one of the major cities in China. PM2.5, such a specialized term, is understood by the city people without any difficulty. Because people in the city have an unusual desire for rumors, people's thinking and information sources are also fragmented. They have a natural understanding of fragmentation. Often a text message, or a retweet in the microblogging, or the inadvertent flip of a dragonfly one day will make the people in the city inexplicably agitated. The rumor mill is like a flying saucer, and soon it's hovering over the city; PM2.5 is already well known, and suddenly people are feeling really bad about the air, and there are enough swearing mouths to flood the buildings of the Environmental Protection Bureau and the Meteorological Bureau.
As a result, more and more cities are measuring and publicizing PM10. Fewer cities are publishing PM2.5, supposedly because it's almost impossible to meet the standard during rapid urbanization. There's nothing wrong with the world but the mediocre? , city administrators have a sophisticated approach to dealing with what they are unsure of or know is impossible? Hanging on to it or explaining and placating it. This time they used explanation and appeasement. People are still satisfied with this, not with the quality of the air, but with their own small persistence and triumphs.
The reason I talk so much about cities as nothing is because I'm from the countryside. I stubbornly believe that the city is a homeless, do not know the height of the reckless teenager, the countryside is the roots, through the wind and rain of the dying old man. The city is used to fight for its life, the countryside is used to bury. The city is for forgetting, the countryside is for remembering. However, I criticize the city so much, my heart is darker, my conscience is still very uneasy. The city is not useless, you see more and more roads over the years, parks and greenery are getting better and better.
The new residential neighborhoods and industrial areas of the city are planted with a lot of trees, and the boulevard leading to the industrial area is like the Chang'an Street of a thousand years ago, which can run eight carriages at the same time in a smooth and steady manner. The green belt in the middle of the avenue is also wide enough to run four carriages, sparsely planted a number of flowers and grasses, but also interspersed with a number of trees that will bloom will not bloom.
The city's skyscrapers are dotted with flowers, but also noisy and noisy, easy to make people dizzy. Over time, the city people inevitably nostalgic for the countryside of the birds and flowers. Where there is demand, where there is opportunity. So, the shrewd real estate developers will name their properties as so-and-so garden, so-and-so house, ? Your home is the park? You're in a park, you're in a park, you're in a park. Bring home the oxygen bar? and other similar advertisements are all over the streets. The greening of many properties is indeed beautifully done. The purpose of doing so is very simple, just like the restaurant in the shape of a chic meal, can easily tickle your taste buds.
The real estate developers in the city don't pay much attention to the unseen areas. For example, many houses don't have thick enough floors. This has serious consequences, because you can easily hear the chickens jumping around upstairs, and you can easily hear yourself and your wife having sex with your downstairs neighbor. In the city, the neighbors are usually old and dead, but they know so many secrets about each other that it becomes more and more embarrassing.
The city's infrastructure is getting bigger and bigger, and the same road is often opened and dug, dug and opened. Sometimes it's burying water pipes, sometimes it's installing broadband, sometimes it's burying gas pipes, so it's always back and forth. From time to time, you can see a kind of digging machine on the street, it creeps on the green belt, stretching its long steel neck, its mouth burrowing into the ground like a pangolin, they are used to quickly excavate broadband lines. The daily work and life of the people in the city are increasingly dependent on a kind of Internet called ? Internet? and therefore need tangible and intangible network coverage everywhere. The city can't function without it, and city dwellers are so addicted to it that they'd go crazy if they stopped using it for even a day.
The people in the city build houses like the people in Henan who spread pancakes, spreading them out in a circle. A few scattered parks are like a few onions scattered on a huge pancake, and the People's Square in the center of the city looks like an egg. The high-rise buildings in the city are all reinforced concrete and steel, and the exterior walls are all tiles or mosaics, and the bathrooms are exactly the same, with underwear worn outside. The more fashionable women in the city do it all the time, and it takes my breath away. I look at those tall buildings and feel the same way, breathless. Because land is getting more and more expensive, the buildings have to be built higher and higher. Looking down from the sky, the city looks like a huge pancake, low in the center and high on the outer edges. Standing in the center of the city, you can't see the skyline, only tall and short buildings connected to the gray and yellow sky.
At night, the streetlights are always on tirelessly, and even the sparrows find them annoying, chattering until they are very tired to sleep. The color of streetlights is usually between yellow and white, in short, an indescribable ambiguous color.
Every intersection and living neighborhood has a myriad of cameras of varying shapes and purposes. Some capture traffic violations, others deter thieves. Those cameras in the neighborhoods, in addition to fire and burglary are said to prevent the masses from mobbing. I use the word "crowd" very accurately, because these cameras are all officially installed without exception. At night in the city, they are like owls, vigilantly looking down on the earth. Even the rats, not to mention the people, have been put under surveillance, and it's hard for a rat crossing the street to escape his eyes. The rats have been strictly guarded, the cats in the city are all pets, and those real owls have long since migrated to the countryside.
I enthusiastically enjoyed all the conveniences the city had to offer. There are morning buses and breakfast projects, morning, daily and evening newspapers, entertainment gossip and financial news, sexy women and fair ladies. There are construction sites, urban villages resistant to demolition, and the occasional lost dragonfly flying up and down on the roofs of tall buildings.
I, being naturally curious, certainly enjoyed it all. In fact, I don't care about the appearance of the city, I care about everyone who lives here. Everyone is so different, every person, every face has a story. Or wonderful, or plain, or joy, or sadness, not carefully speculate, you will not know.
Someone was born, someone died. There are the twilight bells of the temple and the hymns of the church. There are prayers, blessings, and love ramblings, as well as hatred, curses, and conspiracies. There are lucky lottery winners and jumpers who fail to speculate. There are good people and good deeds in the city, and there are lies that run rampant. The city is so all-encompassing and glamorous that people both want to get away from it and are addicted to it.
Description of the city's fine prose to appreciate: roaming the city
Zhuhai
That night, from the magnetic tidal wave of the sea turning sound quiet slumber, under the body is still feeling out of the sealing of the ground can not breathe the mud and sand, the sea breeze penetrated from the back of the tent gap, the occasional wave of the sea breeze incidental to the fishy smell of the sea in the distance. More than anesthetizing to one's sense of smell it felt as if one had come to a distant sea level. In the dream world, the figure of the sea is gradually approaching itself. Began to tell themselves a story about the water.
I think of my town, come to a new place, always can not help but think of their own brittle and unbearable town, think of those buildings printed with mud, in the desolation of the tripod luxury high-rise, think of the first bend from the garbage river to buy the first cup of soybean milk in the morning, and silence to start the day's journey, miss the town, there is a familiar smoke and fire as well as the smell of the able to peek out of the window of the female person back as she fried her rice, her long, gnarled rubberized hair standing up smoothly behind her.
In a blur, the world outside the tent rained heavily, water dripping through the cracks onto the senses, hearing the whispers of someone familiar around them, and the dream came quietly again before the hair was soaked with water.
From Zhuhai's waiting lanes flickering staring at people on the sidelines, according to a friend, Zhuhai is the most like Shantou, a city, not too many mountains, not too many people, there are always a lot of empty positions abruptly displayed, in March, can be in the city to diffuse the smell of the sea, intermingled with the smell of fish faint aroma. Only, this brand-new city can not appear Shantou some gaunt and flavorful old buildings, as well as idle people and vehicles. The only thing that stirred my heart during the walk was seeing a certain tree blackened by the exhaust fumes of the city's automobiles, which reminded me of my hometown. I thought of seeing the festive scene of my hometown from a taxi, the scene of red lanterns flashing eerily along the New River. Every trip is a time to compare and reminisce. It's a pleasure.
Our eight people as a subtle link, from the end of the city quietly moved to the edge of the sea, from the airport off, feeling slightly dizzy, dazzling sunshine from the moment we got off the car began to catalyze the power of the body and mind like a shock. The smell of the sea grew stronger. Staring at the steel horizon in front of you, you know the sea, right in front of you.
Cherishing the time when eight people **** together, letting us play like a child through and through, and then recalling the time when we **** together like looking through an old photo album is the true meaning of the trip.
From Zhongshan to the beach, like the road to the end of the world after the lens, the sea gives me the feeling that there is a kind of the end of the world means, when you really because the road ahead and confused, the feeling as walked to the end of their own world in general. I'm obsessed with the sea because I'm obsessed with looking forward, with going beyond. Desire is like an unbreakable net, but the mystery of anxious desire can only be left to the sea to explain.
To the stage of maturity of eighteen or nineteen, and then can be y obsessed with things have been very few and far between. In addition to the car, the smell of the noisy space, full of haggard silhouettes, drifting a few songs in the poor-quality stereo narration and sound, the sleepy figure of a friend in the reflection as the line of sight gradually melted. A sweltering afternoon, lane tired people's pant legs in front of the eyes of the blurred shaking, so many people's backs in the line of sight shaking, sometimes afraid, will be from these crowded people to catch a pair of God's eyes, above the glint of familiarity, the feeling of a young child due to the naughty time to be separated from the train that kind of bewilderment after the surprise, the surprise of the tears after the sanding finally saw the mother! The gentle high heels appeared in front of the eyes.
A long time away from home, or faintly want to go home, but refused to go home on this holiday, the reason is afraid of those in the life of the recurring parting scene once again, the wanderer in the homesickness, will choose their own more crazy wandering, speed up their own pace in the wilderness to entertain themselves, the wanderer's entertainment belongs to the loneliness of the onlooker seems to be unbelievable.
This time, I want to go to the sea in a real sense, and even look forward to a rain in the middle of the road, after the rain, the sea will have a dreamy impact and desolate, as can not be distinguished from the memory or a dream of that piece of gray sea water from the sight of the swish and far away from the picture. The world of the sea has a lovely horizon, in a certain thinking, began to aspire to bury the body completely into the horizon to soothe themselves, the journey about the sea, destined to become a piece of growth imprint.
Guangzhou
Guangzhou is the second city that makes me feel lonely, and I can feel its odor more y at night. The last subway on the rare crowd, can be seen from the long spread of the carriage far away from the occasional shadow of a person, distant people blurred fingers gesticulating inexplicable shapes, in the bleak white light staggering quiet. That night, even the rumbling echoes from below the ground became more and more serene, as noisy and peaceful as the last train to the end of the world.
It turns out that the noisy crowd can contrast the loneliness of Guangzhou, the blandness of the night spotting the contrast of the day's bombardment, and occasionally in the crowd secretly confused, to a corner in the walk in the deep gaze, this is a city that allows me to stroll on the day, dusk, skyscrapers gradually stars open, lantern-shaped street lamps in a street abruptly shining, like the New Year's Day in his home town, the city's largest city. It's like the colorful lanterns that are specially displayed at New Year's in your hometown, emitting a dreamy light in the dark transparent halo of the car windows.
I remember when I was a kid, staring out of the car window from a hazy sleep at the four beads of bright yellow streetlights, illuminating a small square of the bustling center of the city, the car in the hustle and bustle of such a place after two points, slowly driving into the darkness. At the time of darkness, the flashlight in the hands of the mother reflected in front of the glass window, plump fingers in the flashlight caring around, unexpectedly leaking out the warmth of the look. When the long lattice dresses were popular in the hometown, you could often see the shadows of my mom and my aunts fluttering in the wind, and the women's looks among the drying clothes carried the peace of life. Just wait for the night to grow dark. The woman's smiling face disappeared into the night without streetlights.
Those who fell in love with the street lamps in early childhood, with a little whimsy and extravagance, like the flavor of the bicycle Mercedes, in the straw in the toes gently touch the ground, the thoughts at that time like a kite as random and easy to break, often happy to kill in the stuck in their throats in a simmering cry. Because of all the changes in the family, gradually silent, childhood playmates like clouds of smoke as fast as the flow, finally created a lonely later, in the reinforced concrete road from now on, accustomed to a person walking and listening to a person waiting for rainbows as well as imagining the mountains and rivers.
The four interlocking beads of streetlights were finally transformed into standard two-bead fluorescent beams. One night sneaking in our sight of the dark relief, that time we have long lost that window of the car, leaning feet heavy on the highway in the city center, the body close to the skin of loved ones, as if rather do not remember to think of the scarce heat drawn to save, perennial guardian of the faint heartache. Protecting the nervous tension of family. Fearful that a particular argument could prompt the faint smile on a loved one's face to come to a halt.
That year and which year it was, I have always been vaguely retained in my heart certain fragments, as well as those clear dreamy beaded street lamps, when the mother will occasionally wear Dad's clothing, suit pants jeans, with the smell of soot as well as temperament, will be thinning the hair straight boards, the mirror, she sometimes smiled and watched, when the three-year-old sister has long been in the arms of the laughter out of the shadow to.
Hometown is the first city where I learned to be alone, often in a corner of a heavily polluted environment rushed to discern the direction, and carefully asked themselves to turn out to be no way out of the familiar dark streets and open roads, occasionally a child's laughter from the aisle slowly down, turn which alley, can see the taste of the fresh village, the green covers all the roofs, spreading up, the sharp branches of petunia in the sunlight tenderly, and the green is not a good idea. The green covered all the roofs, spreading upwards, the sharp branches of petunias resting gently in the sunlight, one calling, singing, rocking, scribbling on one's own fingers, or secretly confused in the garbage dumps, occasionally expecting a face to appear in front of you, blocking out the harsh sunlight, and giving out a sincere smile face to face. Only, until growing up in silence, there was never such a person who could warm one's heart. Later, growing up is like a shield stripped of its spear, unable to regain its original integrity because of its hollowness. The source of loneliness is a hole in a certain direction of the heart. It's like a destiny that can't be modified in a hurry.
My years in the bland slowly advancing, then popular Meng Tingwei melancholy tone, popular Gigi Leung to the mailbox counting pears when just a side smile, popular fingers in the busy spinning soft nibs, witnessed the last Children's Day of madness and sadness. The years after growing up are another process to be told.
In Guangzhou strolling towards the uncle's residence, suburban hazy street lamps in the building half asleep, deep in the night there is a child's back to me patting a light red ball, the mouth secretly murmured, suddenly struck an impression of the deepest part of the heart, looking at the memories, there will always be so much sadness and heartbreaking, as in the face of the back of this lonely child in general, deep inside the heart of the human being, there will always be A memory is the sudden presence and clear flash, it can make you suddenly moist eyes, thoughts from the reality of the temporary derailment.
Regarding the feelings of Guangzhou, perhaps because most of the familiar figures of relatives have passed away in this wide city, nostalgia for those quiet and happy times of childhood here, nostalgia for grandma's face in the street exorbitant flashes of an elderly teacher's wisdom, the days of Guangzhou, the strong possession of the customary parting, because of the prolongation of the flow of people, and even the smiles of relatives and friends have become flickering and difficult to distinguish. Time and time again, and friends before parting to stroll through the layer of mechanical subway doors, a back and forth to turn around friends have long disappeared in the underground boom in the aisles, perhaps a few seconds before the sound of a soft goodbye sounded, can be afraid of parting next to the ear of a friend warm a paragraph, ultimately become elusive phantom sound.
At twenty-two minutes past twenty-two in the evening, I stood at the door of the subway machinery, the last subway from this end of the city to carry us to another faraway place, halfway, my companion got off the train, in the glass window flung his hat at me, I stood up and watched him disappear into the aisle, and soon, I was the only one left in the compartment. The air was suddenly cold for a moment, and inexplicably my thoughts turned upside down.
I rubbed the dirty cell phone screen, loved ones are still warm and tinkling, in which she appeared on the screen of the phone, asking me: you're back? Are you back yet? Sorry, this time I intend not to reply to you, because in this place no longer let a person can not think of the thirst to go home, just want to go all the way like this, follow the sensitivity of the eye, to a place they have been a long time ago, hard memories, cry a lot, and then, let yourself really grow up.
Zhongshan
Like to go to the rooftop, not because of those belonging to a person's refreshing, but holding the pleasure of finding a person walking silently, I once tried to find someone in a corner smoking or doodle when the side, for a certain action of the moving has slowly become a habit. I used to look at your graffiti quietly, as if I had intruded into your world with trepidation. Those heads hanging on the edge of the rooftop and the smoke slowly rising from their mouths interpreted your loneliness and your desolation.
The sky of Zhongshan City is always with a serene temperament, which is a quiet and slightly cold city, quiet and tearful not into the fickle, cold and clear more and more show high. Looking down from the rooftop, the vast expanse of mountains behind the school bizarrely hazy, the air is filled with a mist with a misty aroma. I used to think that only the lofty rooftop can bring a kind of joy of flying.
Nowadays, I have tried not to look at the rooftop anymore, purposely, to keep the walking posture of looking down. Whenever you pass by a gust of wind in the heat, and hear the children chirping, you will begin to think of your boredom as well as sadness.
Habit from the rooftop to find some memories of the past, recalled that in the absence of guardrails on the rooftop of the loud call of the years, about the aunt's old building, from the ceiling extends up to the sound of dripping water on the rooftop, through the sun glass to look out and always see only the shadowy eaves of the building. In that space, there is often a laugh to half after the loneliness, nestled in a corner of the sunshine rain and fog repeatedly rose.
The rooftop is a place where one can repeatedly think about the philosophy of life and death. Occasionally turn around and see want to see a haggard face from the building secretly issued a smile, the most beautiful moment in the world is that moment.
And now, I no longer go to the rooftop, because there will always be you on the rooftop. Promise me, always there are you, live well, if you choose to fall, the destruction of a bunch of us from the back looking up.
Occasionally, I will also think of the rooftop of the second middle school, da tic tac tic rain from the body pouring and pouring to solve the gray years, has been waiting for the sunshine after the rain. I've been waiting for the sunshine after the rain, and I've been waiting for the sunshine after the rain. All the way to graduation, are fragmented disappointment.
Perhaps forever dreaming of the first piece of the cold sky reflected from the glass window, the rooftop gave me the impression of gradually reduced to loneliness. Loneliness is the biggest killer, wiped out the memory of a large part of the monologue as well as joy. The most important thing to remember is that it's not just about the way you look at it, it's also about the way you look at it.
Zhongshan City, this accompanied us together crazy with the lonely city, do not mind that we broke your potential tranquility, when we leave, your green hills still have a long river, through the mountain or still see a sea, those wrinkled seawater, will continue to shine until the day of our death.
Description of the city's fine prose to appreciate: the city image
The busy streets of the traffic flow of people like weaving, skyscraper and glittering signs printed out Starbucks; Western-style restaurants plus German barbecue and other luxury places of consumption, a modern city of foreign style. However, in the crevices of the city, in order to build the city; beautify the city people are working hard day and night. They are closely related to the city, but with these enjoyment is not related.
You avoided the busy streets, avoided the hustle and bustle of the crowd. In a corner of the city, or shoulder picking and carrying or people lift the car pulling busy. Sweat and dust stirred together, look on everyone to go face to face. In a corner, you are a person half crouching, half kneeling with a hammer and iron drill hitting a block of brick and stone. Your cracked hands are covered in dirt and blood. And still you pried and pounded with the same vigor, turning over one mud-bound brick and stone after another and laying new ones again. You carefully plastered the mud. Replacing one brick after another, scrutinizing it from side to side, like an artist admiring a work of art, afraid of any omission. This city is paved with bricks and stones like you.
Wrapping up the work, you gather the rest of the underground masonry, so as not to prevent pedestrians from passing through at night. Your eyes move around, as if searching for something you missed. You carry a dirt-stained, worn-out toolkit, hobbling in the shade of the sidewalk, moving to your shelter, where you live in the home and a plank of wooden planks developed into a store, where you pick up the wind and shelter from the rain of the nest. You are surrounded by the flow of flashy cars and beautiful women and handsome men. He or she is well-dressed and elegant. His or her stroll contrasts sharply with your plodding. In the plaza, casual people are singing and dancing to the rhythm of the crowd. You avoid the scornful glances, fidgeting with your cart, as you carefully make your way through the crowd. You have pride and you want to live a life of honor.
You have been working in a remote village, and in order to add a few bricks and mortar to your house, and to save up for your children's schooling, you have found a temporary job in the bustling city. You are covered in dirt on sunny days and mud on rainy days. There are no holidays, no medical care or labor protection. No one asks when you are sick and no one pities you when you are tired. Three hundred and sixty days a year, working more than ten hours a day. In the evening, you come to the roadside restaurant, squeaky wooden benches, greasy table, rough rice and vegetables, plus two bowls of water, to deal with the labor of the day's dinner. How can a bowl of rice and two bowls of water relieve you of the fatigue of a day's labor and cravings? You feel the pocket bill and three dollars three, the boss is not pay wages, tomorrow's meal money is difficult. Tough to put on two two wine, restaurant owners to send a bowl of sour pickles, taste a mouthful of old white dry, alas! This flavor is really very gluttonous!
Night fell, you dragged the tired legs wandering in the street, which is full of high-rise buildings have you steeped in brick and mortar, the flashing neon lights have you ever climbed the scaffolding. Cinemas, nightclubs, amusement parks, restaurants and hotels are brightly lit. Unfortunately none of them belong to you, you are just a passer-by in this city. People in the city have air conditioning in the summer and can heat their homes in the winter. You can go to the gym on weekends, and you may also go to the ski resort on holidays. Streamlined luxury cars line up, their thieving shiny shells glazed over. You look at your clothes and then at your shoes and then at the glittering billboards. How is it that you pass by the door of the high-rise you made with your own hands every day and don't realize that it's going for more than ten thousand dollars per square foot? You still don't understand, they go to labor day and night, how this day is still not good?
The first time I saw this, I was in the middle of a long journey, and it was a long time ago that I was in the middle of a long journey. You did not complain because of the poverty, you did not give up because of the hardship. You are thrifty, hardworking, tough and open-minded. The neon colors of the city remind you of the smoke of your hometown, and the skyscrapers are no match for the high valleys of your hometown. The roar of the automobile is not as crisp as the sound of cows and sheep in your hometown, and the popular songs and dances are not as loud and clear as the songs in your hometown, but you also have your own beliefs in your heart. Because you are looking forward to your children grow up quickly, maybe one day your children may also become the master of the city. Because you are confident, confident that the people of this city should know that the building of the building even higher can not produce bread, the city streets built even more beautiful can not grow corn sorghum. When these cities are fixed and your children have graduated from school, you will still go back to farming. Because people live to eat, if there is no food your clothes to wear in how shiny that stomach is flat. Think of these you heart will be frank. Because you have the value of your existence, although your work seems humble, but your heart is more noble. Because the city is more beautiful with your hard work. Maybe tonight your plank bed is comparable to that Simmons and wire bed.
In the morning, the city is still so crowded, people are still so busy. You are also still covered in mud and water and dirt work, hammer clanking, mechanical roar. The city is beautifying, high-rise buildings are climbing. Your figures are active in the city. The city has your busy body.
The image of the city is not all rich people, luxury cars and houses, every corner of the city has your footprints, every building in the city has your hard work. You are the imprint of the city.
Related prose articles describing the city:
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5. prose about the development of the city
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