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

"You're self destructive," I called.

"Hurrah," he said without enthusiasm, and hung up.

*

The Pit was a club that looked like a club named The Pit.
It was a pit, and a club, and was very pitty in its clubness. A
sizable crowd had started to grow; apparently the current trend
of Saturday morning concerts had really caught on.

"Hello there!" our agent called out, spotting the three of
us in our non-tooth-brushed, just-got-up grunginess. "Hey, I
like the hygiene. It says something remarkable. Okay, your
costumes are backstage and you're on in two minutes."

"What are we supposed to do?" Jack asked.

"Just play three tracks off your new album," he said, waving
the freshly pressed CD2 at us. "Hope you like the art. We paid
several million for it. We left off a band name or an album name
since you didn't specify."

"I like the costumes," Franny said, pointing to the rack.
On three coat hangers were three costumes; one black in Franny's
size, one grey in my size, and one white in Jack's. Although his
wasn't as extensive.

"What's this? A sock?" Jack asked, picking the single
garment off his hanger.

"Yeah. We'd like you to put it around an erection," the
agent said. "Kids go for that."

"I don't think so," he said, tossing the sock over his
shoulder. "What I'm wearing is fine."

"Okay, even if it is a bit old fashioned," the agent said.
"Well... no. On second thought, you three stay the way you are.
There's a certain purity in original design. Okay, you're up.
On stage you go," he said, giving us a push.

"But--" Jack started, and was cut off by thunderous applause
and burning lights.

"Cool," I admitted, strapping on the guitar and picking up
what looked like a jack to stick in it. Franny pulled over a
discarded and bent keyboard stand and loaded up a disk.

"Jack, get booted up," I said. "We're on."