Fall of that year was a long, long one, as if it could go down that way, for like ever. That night I stayed upstairs in Cloud's residence, thought of many things. The wild field of South Michigan reached out to the faraway boundlessly, into the unbelievable black oblivion. Down to the earth there were scattered pumpkin lanterns; Up to the sky, zodiac stars of the autumn night lay, on roofs, antennas, and out of light-years. They were arranged and distributed as such that have never changed since hundreds of thousands years ago, as well as the first Halloween. I thought of things. Mixed things. Inconsistent things. Broomcorns grow, soybeans prosper. From Vietnam's war, to Korea's war, and anti-Japanese War. Oh winter is so awaiting you'd so smell Snow in the air this winter I'd be so awakened on a one-man bed cold as ice bold as iron. Soybeans prosper. They prosper in Michigan in Indiana in Ohio but do they do so in another continent? Cloud's a good boy. I've never had a brother. This goooddamned translation novel, the looonger it's written, the leeess plot it has and the more boooring the hero becomes. Though the atmosphere is kinda realistic anyway, so to speak. Pumpkin cake tastes good. Maybe a little better than apple pie. Broomcorns grow. Soybeans prosper. What happens next when soybeans have become prosperous already? I can hardly pronounce any word, any more, any longer. My bed lifted, levitated and rose, towards that autumn's galaxy. What comes after soybean's prosperity?
试着翻译了一下，如果再配上摩根弗里曼娓娓道来的低沉旁白，是不是内味就来了？🥰
那是发生在一个物产丰饶、辽阔而孤寂的国度里，半个世纪以前的故事。仅仅那么一小段的时空。🌎
——“好像一小堆废墟，或者余烬。”
——“但是余烬中仍有余温。”
——“那就是故事最迷人的地方。故事故事，就是过去的事。”🎃
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