"FWLS61" - читать интересную книгу автора (A Future We'd Like to See)

in a toy store window..."

She held up a kit for a garage, at 1/50th scale, for use
with model train sets. "I got us some model glue too, in case
you didn't have any. You owe me five credits and change."

"Okay," I said. "We'll build the garage later. For now,
let us start to be jamming. Blues riff in G, high beat and
follow me for the changes."

"Check," Franny said, slipping a floptical into her keyboard
drive and loading up some random set of noises.

"What should I do?" Jack asked.

"Drum something," I said. "Okay, here we go."

I've been playing guitar for years, and have become a master
at the art of the chord and fret reach. No; that's not entirely
true. Actually, I suck. I go under sucking and straight into
the negative-suck range, making it sound a lot like torturing
mailmen than anything resembling music. But talent be damned, I
was now a proud member of a garage band and I was going to play.

I strummed the three strings (the rest had broken off when I
tried to slice cheese with them) and tried to maintain a regular
pattern that sounded somewhat like a Net Will Eat Itself song.
Franny started playing broken glass noises and something that
resembled Zamfir being burnt with cigar butts. Jack shrugged and
tapped out a snare occasionally.

"Okay, now we pause for the reverb effect we'll be editing
in later," I said, checking my watch. One second... two.
"Resume."

I reached into the higher chords, wondering if I could make
glass REALLY shatter. Franny took it upon herself to start
playing Bach backwards and Jack stopped tapping, looking
repulsed.

"We suck," he said.

"Big deal. Stomach Contents, the great granddaddy of all
grunge also sucked when they started," I said. "Okay, I think
we've practiced enough to start a recording session."

"Whoa. You're making permanent copies of this shit?" Jack
asked.

"Of course. We'll need it in the event of a talent scout