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

The man walked out of the truck stop, standing proudly in
his new boots and leather duds, seemingly happy with himself.
The soundtrack's guitar would have stopped right about now,
however, when a stray shotgun shell killed the guitarist.

The waitress stood at the door, shotgun pointed and still
smoking. "That was a warning shot. Now, fair's fair, mister,
but I can't let you take the man's truck. He's got cargo there.
Put your hands up."

The man turned around, very, very slowly, examining the
small girl with the big gun and the stained apron in curiosity.

"Good. Now let's have those keys, please," she suggested,
as the man promptly yanked the gun out of her hands.

"Umm," she said, weaponless and confused.

"Errrr," she added.

The man smirked, and reached out for her. She began to
yelp, as he planted a firm grip around her apron and pulled it
off. The waitress, sans apron but still with uniform, ran back
inside.

The man put on the apron, not sure what to do with it. He
was hoping for some sort of solar prevention, but this would have
to do. He hopped in the truck, turned on the jets, and roared
off into the sky.

*

Another purple blast of light and air popped up that night,
about fifty miles away. Unfortunately, it was twenty feet up in
the air.

"Oh, shi--" the boy managed, before local physics took over
and he plunged to the pavement below, with a sickening CRUNCH and
the sound of plastic cracking.

The boy groaned, assessing damage. Head : intact. Bruises
: few. Bones : unbroken. Pride : damaged. He shook his head to
clear out of the purple spots, and looked underneath him.

NOW he cursed.

There wasn't much left of it. Crushed plastic, a broken
screen, flickering various error messages. The battery was
already leaking jelly, it wouldn't last more than a few seconds.