"David,.Peter.-.Spider-Man.2" - читать интересную книгу автора (David Peter)

Mary Jane Watson stared back at him.
He couldnТt believe it. Beneath his mask, Peter Parker wanted to guffaw. But
this was hardly the time. Instead, ignoring the irony, he crawled over Mary
JaneТs face and settled the worker onto the rooftop. The man had finally stopped
screaming, and had passed out.
It was a huge billboard. Mary Jane, her eyes literally gigantic, was gazing out
at an undeserving populace. The logo read, УEmma Rose Parfumerie.Ф
As Spider-Man began to unwind his webbing from the unconscious worker, he felt a
wave of almost Shakespearian melancholy falling upon him. Adopting the
appropriately grave demeanor, he turned to the senseless worker and intoned, УI
have been stung by fate. I am its prisoner. A prisoner of my own conscience. My
love for the girl I want, always to be locked within me.Ф He glanced once more
at the billboard. УWith me, sheТs always in danger from those who fight against
me. Without her, I travel a lonely road. My story will always be about the loss
of a girl.Ф He ceased his work and pointed at her. УThat girl. Mary Jane Watson.
And every day I ask myself, how long can I endure this loneliness?Ф
He stopped talking and exhaled a heavy sigh. УI know, I know. More lachrymose
than youТd expect from your friendly neighborhood Spider-Man. Guess we all have
our off days, though. So never you mind. Just keep on sleeping. I have an I beam
to get squared away.Ф
And with that, Spider-Man fired a web-line and swung over toward the
still-precarious girder.
All of that had transpired a little more than half an hour earlier.
Consequently, when Peter pulled up in front of a seedy rat-trap of a restaurant
called JoeТs Pizza over on MacDougal Street in the Village, his mind was
elsewhere. Specifically, it was on another one of those same billboards with
M.J.Тs face adorning it, staring down at the pizza place in a manner that Peter
might almost be inclined to call Уprotective,Ф if he were given to flights of
fancy.
Now dressed in his УcivilianФ clothes, Peter sat astride a small motorcycle. His
aunt May had had a fit when sheТd first learned he was tooling around on such a
Уdeath trap.Ф HeТd sworn to her heТd always drive responsibly, andnever over
twenty miles an hour. He suspected she didnТt believe that last part, but they
maintained an unspoken agreement to let it stand.
Peter was rolling up to curbside, staring up at the billboard, reflecting on the
things heТd said earlier to the unconscious construction worker.Is this what IТm
reduced to? Peter wondered.So desperate to have someone to talk to that I chat
it up with people who canТt hear me? But really, what other choice do I have?
There are things I have happening in my life, and no one I can talk to about
them. ThatТs just the way it is when the world knows you as Spider-Man but
everyone you love only knows you by the name of PeterЧ
УParker!Ф
Peter nearly toppled off his cycle, but instantly righted himself. Standing
outside the pizza parlor was the owner, one Rahi Aziz. Dark-haired and of
indeterminate Middle Eastern descent, Aziz was flustered and frustrated and
didnТt hesitate to make Peter aware that he was the cause. With one hand he was
pointing angrily at Peter; with the other, he was waving to the banner over the
front wall that said, УOur Oven to Your Door. 29 Minutes or ItТs Free!Ф
УParker!Ф he shouted a second time. УYouТre late again! Always late!Ф
УSorry, Mr. Aziz,Ф said Peter. УThere was aЕФ