"FWLS35" - читать интересную книгу автора (A Future We'd Like to See)

stared with sleepy eyes directly into the man's pupils.

"I need your clothes, your boots, and your truck," the nude
man asked, in a polite, yet I'll Rip Your Arm Off If You Don't
Watch It sort of tone.

"Sorry, I need 'em," the trucker woozily said. "Gotta 56
hour run to do, shippin' slinkies to HappiWerld. Here's my card,
call me up if you need shipping done later."

The nude man crumpled up the card and threw it away. "I
need your clothes, your--"

"Hey, Bouncer?" the trucker called. A large man, quite
larger than the nude guy, loped up.

"Yeah?" he said, in a voice similar to a rock tumbler.

"This guy is bugging me," the trucker said.

"Alright. Come with me, sir," the Bouncer suggested. The
man simply punched the Bouncer.

Ordinarily, it would take a twenty ton weight to even faze
the Bouncer. This particular punch, however, knocked him across
the restaurant and through three plate glass windows. Various
truckers applauded, mistaking this for some kind of dinner
theater.

One of the waitresses had managed to get the one belt-fed
shotgun they normally only used to kill meat that hadn't arrived
dead yet, and calmly pumped fifteen rounds of shot into the pink
idiot who wasn't wearing any clothes. He fell down with a
massive THUMP. The truckers applauded again, and promptly
stopped when the man got back up, without a scratch on him.

"From the top," the man repeated, "I need your clothes, your
boots, and your truck."

"Uhhh..." the trucker started, unable to cope with the
situation any more. He looked to his friends for help.

"Nord, the guy just took fifteen blasts with a shotgun and
maimed Bouncer," his friends said. "Give the guy your fucking
clothes already."

*

If life had a soundtrack, odds are it would be blaring away
with the guitars right now.