【正文】 oks familiar because it is taken in the same placethe summer home. I will describe the older photograph as very interesting in the style of dress and exactly where the people are sitting. They are posed outside the cottage by a small tree that is still there today. A woman is sitting in a rocking chair, with here black hair pulled up in a bun(腦 后的女髻） .She is not smiling but looking away from the camera and wearing a long black dress. Another woman is wearing a white blouse with a necktie(領結 ）and a long black skirt. Her hair is also long and blonder(金 黃色的） but pulled back in a bun. There are two men on either side of a wooden table. BOth men appear older and are dressed in hats and suits and ties,trousers and SUnday shoes. Neither is smiling. (I have the distinct feeling that the women are their wives and it is Sunday.) they probably are hungry for their roast beef and potatoes,but that is just my guess. There is a young boy,probably about 13 in the photograph, He is wearing a white blouse,black shorts,long black socks and tan sports shoes. He is petting a black dog that is sitting on top of the round wooden table. The boy is bending down and he isn39。 thick stalks. I scrambled down to the banks of the river and threw the knife into the night. I heard it splash far away. The river touched my feet. I reached down and washed my sleeve and hand, although the water was so cold, like ice, that my hand became numb. Then I walked back up to the street. I found some of the other workers hiding in the deserted warehouse we had found. One of them went to find Paulo, who came and told me about the old farm buildings near to the coast road. Paulo was not smiling. I waited until darkness before I followed the road out of the town, throwing myself into the ditch if I heard a car approaching. The weather has been clear and I have seen the coast of Morocco every day. Across the blue sea flecked with sun, the land is a strip of dark brown and grey, and looks close enough for me to touch. Maybe I could find an old tractor tyre tube around the farm and float across the Straits? Or maybe I could walk along the shore and steal a boat? I do not want to bee a thief. I am an honest man who wants only to work and support his family. But what can I do? I will wait here for Paulo and listen to him. He will tell me what to do for the best. I know that he will help me. unit2： Tim eless photographs I love to look at old photographs in the album(影集 ).My father had a big box of pictures in the cabi and some of the pictures go way back to the 189039。 foremen came to the Pla?a to choose who would work that day. But still we had some hope. We lost the house in the third month, as we had no money for rent. We were able to get some food from the charity kitchens around the town, and the church, but we found always a long queue and very little food. We took our bags and blankets and slept in the fields. Then the weather became cold and we slept where we could, huddled together, in old fotten buildings and alleys. Sometimes I dreamed of my family and my home, and when I awoke I wished the dream could continue. The people of the town stared at us from the sides of their eyes as they passed us. They clenched their hands and muttered, and some of them spat on the pavement. A few of us were attacked and beaten in the dark, and driven from the parks and streets. All of the time, the Police told us to move on, move on. It is the end of the third month when it happens. The farmers hire coaches and send them into the Pla?a Colom. From four o39。 I found piles of fotten dried chestnuts and grain in rotting barrels. I tried the chestnuts but they tasted sour and sharp, and some of them had small teethmarks in their dark, peeling skins. Paulo said he would bring me food, but that was three days ago. Yesterday, I heard a car engine getting closer, and climbed up to hide in the rafters of the patched roof, but the Guardia Civil men just looked in quickly through the smashed windows and broken doors before they left. I clung to the dusty wooden rafter, feeling it creak and bend under my weight, and tried to make no noise. My arms and legs grew numb, then began to tremble, and I longed to move, but I waited until I heard the policemen drive off. I know that Paulo would not have told them about me. And I know that they will return. When we began the final part of our journey, we were warned that the police patrol the land around here regularly. They are always searching for us, or others like us。s winter store。 their crops were rich and heavy, waiting to be picked. Then some men from Madrid visited all of the farms, and maybe half of the farmers stopped using us. The farmers told us that they were sorry, and we believed them. So the second month was worse: few of the farmers would use us, and those that did paid very poor wages. We shared what we had, and ate once a day: rice, pasta, bread, cheap food that would fill our stomachs. We began to stare at each other, and wonder which of us would find work. There were fights in the morning, between different groups of workers, when the farms39。 I can hear it rushing in the darkness beneath me. My right hand feels cold. I look down, in the yellow light of a street lamp, and see my hand still clenched into a fist. It looks like the hand of another person, not part of me. A short blade, no longer than my thumb, sticks out from the fist. The blade, my fist, and my sleeve are all stained dark red. Paulo gave me the knife when I picked artichokes on the farms. The short thick blade is very sharp, made for slicing through the plants39。t seem to care. They were staying at such places as Newport Beach and Cape Cod having the time of their lives running in and out of the tide. One photo