"Eliot Fintushel - Izzy and the Father of Terror" - читать интересную книгу автора (Fintushel Eliot)

massaged his buttocks. My nipples rubbed
his chest. I smiled, but held my lips
enticingly distant. The Indian behind the
wheel stroked my back.

Or perhaps I was from Pakistan. I was
irritated at Izzy. I, the driver, said,
"If I had wanted like this, I would have
stayed at my motel, Izzy. Do we have to
pick up everybody?"

"Exactly, Sarvaduhka," One-brow shot back.
"ThatтАЩs who this piece of merchandise is:
everybody! AinтАЩt you, Jack?"

I pulled my sleeve across my face to erase
the tears. The car, a warm shell of light,
seemed heaven, but I couldnтАЩt find where
to say yes from. When I tried to speak,
the car door groaned instead. It closed. I
was inside, in front, squeezed between the
door and the man with one long eyebrow.
"How did you know?" I tried to say;
instead, the sun rose.



4. Relic Background Radiation

Sarvaduhka pressed a button, and there was
the United States of America: news, music,
tractor pull ads?"SUNDAYYYYYY!"?static,
evangelist patter, a song by Johnny
Abilene . . .

ThereтАЩs a splash across the southern sky

Named "I love you-oo!"

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And I know just what a big man

Ought to do-yodelayhee-do.

IтАЩm sorry I left you somewhere in the
blue-boo-hoo-hoo