"David Brin - Senses Three and Six" - читать интересную книгу автора (Brin David)

the Girl, and you've got to jump up too, and grin and friendly-like ask him to join
you in beer while the poor Girl has a stupefied smile on her face and only a little
bikini bottom on her ass, and everyone in the house can see that big weighted
flashlight you're holding behind your back, and you're wondering if your sphincters
are going to hold because that drunk's got six friends at the bar just as "friendly."
That happened twice in Weed. I damn near broke character, as well as some poor
Indian's head, before I quit.
Weed was a lot like Crescent City, wet and pungent. Only here the fog is made of
ocean spray and clouds crawling upriver on their way to skirmish with the
mountains. In Weed the morning haze was pure mosquitoes.
The kids who come to the Yankee Dollar to hear bluegrass and chivy sips of beer
from their older brothers and sisters don't know how to be mean yet. They're so tied
up in teenage smells and teenage aggravation. I remember when I was that age so I
try to be tolerant.
It's funny how tonight I can recollect things like that from twenty years ago, but
until recently I had trouble thinking much more than a week either way. Today I saw
a jet flying high overhead. A fast little navy fighter, I guess. It got me thinking...
 ... The growl of engines... launching to a fanfare from Beethoven... laughter
and clean flight...


Stop that! Divert! What is the matter with me? Where are these visions coming
from?
Ignore 'em. That's what I'll do. Nothing like that ever happened... Think about
something else. Think about the kids. Think about the kids and bouncer lessons.
I guess I like the kids enough. I watch 'em close, though. The worst they usually
do is try to sneak pitchers outside or do J's in the corner. I put a stop to that fast,
and have a rep for the sharpest eye in bouncerdom.
No way. I'm gettin' hauled up before a judge for "contributing to delinquency." A
judge might be one of the ones They are watching. They catch wind of me, and pfff!
There goes both Chuckie and me.
"Hey, Chuck!"
"Yeah, what! What you want?" I bellow. Full Chuck bellow from the edge of the
bar.
They stand in the doorway ten feet away, three underage lodgepoles in
denim--scraggly moustaches and zits. They want to pull something I'd catch them at
easy. So they're about to appeal to Chuck's sense of camaraderie. I gotta smile.
"Hey, Chuck, can we bring in some beers? You're cool, man. We'll keep it under
the table..."
Turn grin to grimace.
"Hell, no. You guys get that stuff out of here! Drink it at home and then come
back. Or better yet, don't come back!"
They cuss me, laughing. I cuss back to maintain image, but my heart really isn't in
it tonight.
Five minutes later they're back. Must have chugged the whole six-pack from the
way they slosh and giggle as they come in, giving me a wink. Jesus! Can you
remember chugging just to get a stomach full of beer? Doing it because a boy's got
to have some sort of rite of passage when the girls just won't put out and we don't
send young men after eagle feathers anymore?
That's bouncer lesson number three. Like your clientele. Establish empathy. But