"Philip Jose Farmer - The Sliced Crosswise Only on Tuesday W" - читать интересную книгу автора (Farmer Phillip Jose)

standing in line at the Center City Bureau before he got the proper forms. The first
time, he was handed the wrong form and had to start all over again. There was no line
set aside for those who wanted to change their days. There were not enough who
wished to do this to justify such a line. So he had to queue up before the
Miscellaneous Office counter of the Mobility Section of the Vital Exchange
Department of the Interchange and Cross Transfer Bureau. None of these titles had
anything to do with emigration to another day.
When he got his form the second time, he refused to move from the office window
until he had checked the number of the form and asked the clerk to double-check. He
ignored the cries and the mutterings behind him. Then he went to one side of the vast
room and stood in line before the punch machines. After two hours, he got to sit down
at a small rolltop desk-shaped machine, above which was a large screen. He inserted
the form into the slot, looked at the projection of the form, and punched buttons to
mark the proper spaces opposite the proper questions. After that, all he had to do was
to drop the form into a slot and hope it did not get lost. Or hope he would not have to
go through the same procedure because he had improperly punched the form.
That evening, he put his head against the hard metal and murmured to the rigid face
behind the door, "I must really love you to go through all this. And you don't even
know it. And, worse, if you did, you might not care one bit."
To prove to himself that he had kept his gray stuff, he went out with Mabel that
evening to a party given by Sol Voremwolf, a producer. Voremwolf had just passed a
civil service examination giving him an A-13 rating. This meant that, in time, with
some luck and the proper pull, he would become an executive vice-president of the
studio.
The party was a qualified success. Tom and Mabel returned about half an hour
before stoner time. Tom had managed to refrain from too many blowminds and liquor,
so he was not tempted by Mabel. Even so, he knew that when he became unstonered,
he would be half-loaded and he'd have to take some dreadful counter-actives. He
would look and feel like hell at work, since he had missed his sleep.
He put Mabel off with an excuse, and went down to the stoner room ahead of the
others. Not that that would do him any good if he wanted to get stonered early. The
stoners only activated within narrow time limits.
He leaned against the cylinder and patted the door. "I tried not to think about you
all evening. I wanted to be fair to Mabel, it's not fair to go out with her and think about
you all the time."
 All's fair in love тАж

He left another message for her, then wiped it out. What was the use? Besides, he
knew that his speech was a little thick. He wanted to appear at his best for her.
Why should he? What did she care for him?
The answer was, he did care, and there was no reason or logic connected with it. He
loved this forbidden, untouchable, far-away-in-time, yet-so-near woman.
Mabel had come in silently. She said, "You're sick!"
Tom jumped away. Now why had he done that? He had nothing to be ashamed of.
Then why was he so angry with her? His embarrassment was understandable but his
anger was not.
Mabel laughed at him, and he was glad. Now he could snarl at her. He did so, and
she turned away and walked out. But she was back in a few minutes with the others. It
would soon be midnight.
By then he was standing inside the cylinder. A few seconds later, he left it, pushed