关于此有声读物
Valparaíso is a city that keeps its ears open. The hills—Cerro Alegre, Cerro Concepción—lean forward like old men on balconies, listening. On winter mornings the fog sits low, and sound travels in soft ropes: a street vendor rolling an carrito of sopapillas, a child’s laughter from a painted stairway, trolley wires humming like muted strings. And sometimes—when the sea hushes for a moment—you can hear the trumpet from four turns away.
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