"FWLS52" - читать интересную книгу автора (A Future We'd Like to See)

money stolen and body beaten to death or worse. A good night's
sleep was JUST around the corner!

SSQUUEUEAKKSQUUUEEAAAKKKSQUUUAEEAAAAKKK...

Maybe pushing the bike was a bad idea. Perhaps I could
carry it or something...

That's when I heard the cough.

I jumped back, assuming an attack position before
remembering I hated violence. Someone in the alley was coughing
a bit, belching out clouds of smoke. (Yuck. Smoking. That's
bad for your health!) He stepped out of the alley.

It was a Night Person, clearly; black leather trenchcoat,
black shirt, camouflage pants. He had this awful scruffy blond
hairdo, and a tiny, used cigarette in his hand. He had an
obligatory Night Person disfigurement, a patchwork of scar tissue
on his neck. He was also grinning like a maniac. A kindly
maniac, but a maniac nonetheless. A scary sight for a florist
who has lost her way home.

"I'll have you know I'm fully armed," I lied. (I HATED
guns.)

"?" he said, surprised. Then he laughed, slapping his knee.
"! (:. U? --> p=- ? (:!"

"Huh?" I said, confused. He wasn't talking english,
clearly. It was just this weird string of grunts and chirps and
noises... sounded kind of happy and jovial, though. Like he was
making a joke about something. He seemed friendly enough.

":)," he said, pointing to himself. He stood up a little
taller. "& U?"

It was hard to tell, but I think he said 'and you'. "Umm.
Fine, thanks."

He shook his head. He traced the outline of a rectangular
badge on his jacket, sort of like an employee name tag, and
pointed back at me.

"Umm, I work at a flower shop down there a little... Jill's
Bouquets? I'm Jill Quayle."

"J... ill," he said, carefully trying to pronounce it.
Obviously he was having difficulty. Maybe he was talking that
Yttian language or something? "J'..l. 8. 8)! U --> 8)?"