Uncle uses a unique kebab composition.

It was late autumn. The night has been under heavy pressure, and it's almost 12 o'clock.

The wind is strong and cold, but it is not unbearable. I, uh, barbecue at the snack bar on the street. This street is very lively. In this enchanting city of Guangzhou, this time is not a quiet time.

The business of the snack bar is surprisingly good, and there are no vacancies. I order food for more than two people by myself. I don't care if I can handle it. Snack bars not only sell barbecue, but also sell other things, but barbecue is the most popular. The charcoal stove in the back is full of mutton and beef, leaving no space. The boss put his hand on the charcoal stove to keep warm while baking. I went in and took a look. It was a dirty little room, dark, and I saw the boss's face look a little funny in the contrast of fire and smoke.

I took a bite of the first roast mutton, and I didn't feel anything, as if the taste disappeared instantly. I'm a little disappointed.

In Guangzhou, I am used to having morning tea and refreshments, so I seldom have a chance to go out for a barbecue. However, eating it made me even more disappointed.

Not this smell, not this feeling!

I looked out. There are many barbecue stalls outside, all of which are set by the roadside, but I was too cold, so I found this one with a room. I put down my half-eaten food and went out.

The business of the barbecue stall outside is not good because it is cold and dirty. It's always good to have a house. Nobody knows whether it is dirty or clean, and nobody cares.

I turned around and the money was in my pocket, but I couldn't use it. I don't know which file to choose.

Finally, I made up my mind to walk to a small charcoal stove. Because the barbecue seller is from Xinjiang. I'm so sure because he looks really special, with a straight nose and sunken eyes. You can tell at a glance that he is from Xinjiang. Before in Wuhan, my favorite was the mutton kebabs sold by Xinjiang people wearing white hats on the street. Although someone once told me that it was made of mouse meat, it didn't affect my desire for mutton kebabs for so many years.

I stood in front of his booth before I spoke, when an uncle came with a mobile phone. He patted me on the shoulder and asked me, "Did you call me?" I ignored him. A person wandering outside in the middle of the night doesn't really want to meet a stranger, and his appearance is really obscene. His eyes scanned me up and down. "Didn't you call my cell phone?" He waved his mobile phone in front of me.

I want to say no. Xinjiang people selling mutton kebabs said to me, "How many kebabs do you want?" I simply ignored the wretched uncle and gave the money to the Xinjiang people. "It cost so much money." I didn't ask him how much it was, and I didn't want to ask.

Uncle looked around with his head stretched out and walked away.

Xinjiang people looked at me while turning mutton. I looked at him too.

A good-looking man, but not very neat. Dressed thin, black and thin. He cooked mutton skillfully, and soon, I smelled the fragrance, so familiar, just like I smelled it in Wuhan when I was a child.

For an instant, I was in a trance, as if I had returned to my childhood. He looked at me, but said nothing, said nothing. His business is not good, so he concentrates on roasting mutton and brushing all kinds of spices on it over and over again. There are bright lights all around, but I feel very dark, there is no light, only Xinjiang people and golden mutton kebabs in front of me.

"Is it spicy?" For a long time, he suddenly spoke. The voice is a little thick. I suddenly want to ask, how long has he been here and why, but after all, he is a stranger, and my words are still suppressed. "supplement! The hotter the better. " I have been in Guangzhou for many years and haven't eaten real Chili.

So he went on working and looked down at me.

Listen to him, I think he hasn't come out for a long time. As the year is approaching, it is really attractive to come to this rare city from such a far place in Xinjiang.

I want to know his story. But I didn't ask anything. Other people's stories always belong to others. Even if I invite them, they will never get in.

When he handed me the kebab, I couldn't wait to take a bite, completely losing my ladylike demeanor. Mutton doesn't seem very fresh, but what does it matter? That feeling is right, everything doesn't matter.

When I walked back to the snack bar step by step, I couldn't stop looking back. His business is still deserted, and his expression is gradually blurred in my sight until I can't see anything.

A Xinjiang man selling mutton kebabs and I are completely different worlds. He has his story and I have my life, but somehow, I suddenly feel that neither of us is happy-forever. How ridiculous!