"Marcus Eubanks - Selections from the New World" - читать интересную книгу автора (Eubanks Marcus)

Program finished, it says. Select another or # for random play.

I toss it over my shoulder so it lands on the carpet inside. I guess it hits hard enough to push a key, because a blues piece with a funky Hammond organ starts playing from the depths of my library.

The pain from my hand has calmed down enough that I notice the angry welt on my forearm once again. The TB test has been sort of a ritual for me: every six months on the solstice I get a nurse or a medical student to hit me with the subcutaneous PPD injection. Up 'til now, it has always been negative.

It itches, but I resist the urge to scratch. I cough, and wonder if it's the cigarettes or the first manifestation of the infection sure to blossom in my lungs.

Tomorrow, of course, I'll start the standard six-drug regimen. Ain't gonna help much, though. Multi-drug resistant TB, probably brought here on a bus from Manhattan, made it to Pittsburgh about a year ago. It's been at least three months since any of the hospitals in town have treated a case that was even slightly responsive.

I drop the bottle to the balcony floor. It rolls on its side, beer slowly spilling away.

Aw hell. What an incredibly stupid fucking way to die.