"Brad Ferguson - The World Next Door" - читать интересную книгу автора (Ferguson Brad)

Something called Home Box Office. Something else called People
magazine. Somebody named Princess Di.
A man named Jerry Falwell who's either a preacher or a politician.
Young men with purple and orange hair wearing earrings in pierced
ears.
Radios so small you can wear them on your head, so people can listen to
them as they walk around.
A government program called Medicare, for old people.
There were others, but these are representative. Doc spoke up about
wish-fulfillment fantasies again, and theorized that Elvis being here
recently might have reminded us too much about the old world. He
pointed out that while everyone seems to be having dreams, no two people
are having exactly the same dreams about the same things. He says not to
worry, that it will pass. The mayor said that while people aren't having
exactly the same dreams, they're close enough to make him suspicious; he
called it a psychic event. Doc's answer to that was that since people have
been doing nothing else but talk about their dreams, the dreams they have
are being influenced by those conversations.
In other business, Jess said he'd have the sugar ready in a week or two;
the grinding and drying is taking him longer to do that he thought it
would, but he says he doesn't need any help. We're all looking forward to
the sugar. Since Jess is still okay, we're assuming the crop is. Now if we
could only grow coffee ...
November 12
Big snow last night. Twelve inches on the ground, and this one won't
melt off. But we've gotten the crops and firewood in.
The temperature's taken a plunge, too. We'd probably have lost some
field hands if they'd still been working out in the open. Doc says with the
winds still coming out of the northwest, the snow's safe enough, since the
early October rain was. That's a relief; it means we'll have a healthy soil for
next spring's planting.
November 15
The dreams got very sharp, very real last night. I saw superhighways
with thousands of cars on them. I was reading a thick paperback book by
somebody named Jackie Collins. My wife and daughter were still alive and
with me. There was a nice little house I lived in, right in this town. There
was a color TV set in the living room and another one in our bedroom;
both were showing the news, but I don't remember any, except that the
announcer seemed excited and worried, maybe scared. And there was a
wonderful, luxurious indoor bathroom with all the hot water you could
want. It was so real I could touch it. I woke up suddenly in the night and I
cried for my family, gone all these years ever since the first, worst days.
November 16
No dreams last night at all. Slept well for the first time in weeks.
I tried Jess' sugar. Wonderful! I'd forgotten how good real sugar could
be. I sprinkled some of my share on wild blueberries I picked a couple of
days ago.
November 18
Everybody in town is saying their dreams are gone. Doc says we've all
had a psychic trauma, but it's over now.