"Harrison, Harry - Make Room! Make Room! (Soylent Green) 3.0" - читать интересную книгу автора (Harrison Harry)

just where he was, although he had lived in this room for over seven years. He
yawned and the odd sensation slipped away while he groped for the watch that he
always put on the chair next to the bed, then he yawned again as he blinked at
the hands mistily seen behind the scratched crystal. Seven... seven o'clock in
the morning, and there was a little number 9 in the middle of the square window.
Monday, the ninth of August, 1999Чand hot as a furnace already, with the city
still imbedded in the heat wave that had baked and suffocated New York for the
past ten days. Andy scratched at a trickle of perspiration on his side, then
moved his legs out of the patch of sunlight and bunched the pillow up under his
neck. From the other side of the thin partition that divided the room in half
there came a clanking whir that quickly rose to a high-pitched drone.
"Morning..." he shouted over the sound, then began coughing. Still coughing he
reluctantly stood and crossed the room to draw a glass of water from the wall
tank; it came out in a thin, brownish trickle. He swallowed it, then rapped the
dial on the tank with his knuckles and the needle bobbed up and down close to
the Empty mark. It needed filling, he would have to see to that before he signed
in at four o'clock at the precinct. The day had begun.
A full-length mirror with a crack running down it was fixed to the front of the
hulking wardrobe and he poked his face close to it, rubbing at his bristly jaw.
He would have to shave before he went in. No one should ever look at himself in
the morning, naked and revealed, he decided with distaste, frowning at the dead
white of his skin and the slight bow to his legs that was usually concealed by
his pants. And how did he manage to have ribs that stuck out like those of a
starved horse, as well as a growing potbellyЧboth at the same time? He kneaded
the soft flesh and thought that it must be the starchy diet, that and sitting
around on his chunk most of the time. But at least the fat wasn't showing on his
face. His forehead was a little higher each year, but wasn't too obvious as long
as his hair was cropped short. You have just turned thirty, he thought to
himself, and the wrinkles are already starting around your eyes. And your nose
is too bigЧwasn't it Uncle Brian who always said that was because there was
Welsh blood in the family? And your canine teeth are a little too obvious so
when you smile you look a bit like a hyena. You're a handsome devil, Andy Rusch,
and when was the last time you had a date? He scowled at himself, then went to
look for a handkerchief to blow his impressive Welsh nose.
There was just a single pair of clean undershorts in the drawer and he pulled
them on; that was another thing he had to remember today, to get some washing
done. The squealing whine was still coming from the other side of the partition
as he pushed through the connecting door.
"You're going to give yourself a coronary, Sol," he told the gray-bearded man
who was perched on the wheelless bicycle, pedaling so industriously that
perspiration ran down his chest and soaked into the bath towel that he wore tied
around his waist.
"Never a coronary," Solomon Kahn gasped out, pumping steadily. "I been doing
this every day for so long that my ticker would miss it if I stopped. And no
cholesterol in my arteries either since regular flushing with alcohol takes care
of that. And no lung cancer since I couldn't afford to smoke even if I wanted
to, which I don't. And at the age of seventy-five no prostatitis because..."
"Sol, pleaseЧspare me the horrible details on an empty stomach. Do you have an
ice cube to spare?"
"Take twoЧit's a hot day. And don't leave the door open too long."