"Attanasio, A A - Radix 02 - In Other Worlds 1.0" - читать интересную книгу автора (Attanasio A.A)

to smelling the river, though he was only a few blocks away from
the Hudson. This morning the air for him was kelpy with the
sweetand-sour smell of the Hudson. Immense cauliflower clouds
bunched over the city, and the blue of- the sky seemed clear as an
idea.
He strolled down Twenty-third Street with an atypically loose
stride, his face uplifted to the path of heaven. Spring's promise-
haunted presence drifted through the tumult of clouds, which was
odd, since this was November. The rainbow-haired punks that
loitered about the Chelsea Hotel looked childbright and friendly
today, and Carl knew then that the ferment of a mood was indeed
altering him. But he didn't care. Though his blood felt carbonated, it
was wondrous to see the city looking benevolent, and he went with
the illusion.
At the corner of Seventh Avenue, a drunk approached him,,
and he handed over a dollar, appreciating the serene desuetude of
the woman's face. Nothing could depress him this morning. And the
sight of the place where he worked sparked a smile in him. The
Blue

Apple at Twenty-second and Seventh was a bar and restaurant that
he managed. Except for the neon sign in the vine-trellised window,
the structure was antiquated and looked smoky with age. Until Carl
had come along, the narrow building had been an Irish bar with the
inspired name the Shamrock, run and owned by Caitlin Sweeney, an
alcoholic widow supporting her thirst and a daughter with the
faithful patronage of a few aged locals. A year ago, after losing his
midtown brokerage job to the recession and his own lack of
aggression, Carl had let a newspaper ad lead him here.. He had been
looking for something to keep him alive and not too busy. And then
he had met Sheelagh and wound up working harder than ever.
Caitlin's daughter had been sixteen then, tall and lean-limbed,
with green, youthless eyes and a lispy smile. Carl was twice her age,
and he lost his heart to her that first day, which was no common
event with him. He had experienced his share of crooked romance
and casual affairs in college, and for the last ten years he had lived
alone out of choice sprung from disappointment. No woman whom
he had found attractive had ever found him likewise. He was
gangly, nearsighted, and bald, not ugly but lumpy-featured and
devoid of the conversational charm that sometimes redeemed men
of his mien. - So instead of contenting himself with the love of a
good but not quite striking woman, he had lived alone and close to
his indulgences: an occasional spleef of marijuana, a semiannual
cocaine binge, and a sizable pornography collection stretching back
through the kinky Seventies to the body-painting orgies of the
Sixties. Sheelagh made all the years of his aloneness seem
worthwhile, for she was indeed striking-a tall, lyrical body with
auburn tresses that fell to the roundness of her loose hips-and, most
exciting of all, she needed him.
When Carl had arrived, the Shamrock was brinking on