老胡身后的紫檀木柜上摆着大大小小的胶囊。他说,仓库里还有更多。我问他,胶囊里装了什么?“时间,记忆。”老胡小心取下一个胶囊立在柜子上,胶囊与桌面相碰发出沉闷而悠远的声音,里面应是装了不少东西。沟壑纵横的手细细摩挲着胶囊光滑的表面,老胡看着它的眼神仿佛是在看着一个稚气未脱的孩子。“把对未来的遐想、寄言,与现在最想留下的东西放进去,二十年以后,三十年以后,甚至五十年,再来打开它。”老胡说,在他小时候,他的父亲带着他做了一个胶 Hu behind the old red sandalwood wooden cabinet large and small capsules. He said there’s more in the warehouse. I asked him, what is in the capsule? “Time, memory. ” Old Hu carefully remove a capsule standing on the cupboard, the capsule meets the desktop and issued a dull and distant sound, which should be loaded with a lot of things . Gully vertical and horizontal hands gently massage the smooth surface of the capsule, the old Hu looked at it as if looking at a childish child. “Put the future of reverie, send words, and now most want to leave things into it, twenty years later, thirty years later, or even fifty years, and then open it.” Nostalgia, in his childhood, His father made a rubber with him