"Hebbler, Lois - The Alley" - читать интересную книгу автора (Hebbler Lois)

THE ALLEY
By Lois Hebbler

An alley is a good place to live, but an even better place to die.
Anyway that's what my best friend says so and I guess I should believe
him.
"You're the smart one around here, aren't you, Herbie?"
My friend was propped against the opposite wall. All he did was glance
over at me and give me a do-I-have-to-state-the-obvious look. He isn't
much of a talker. And I like that. Because some days I have my own
private orchestra tuning up inside my skull and once that happens things
get scrambled.
Herbie and I have been discussing alleys for a while now because we live
in one. It goes nowhere real important, but sometimes someone will
stumble onto my place. Mostly it's other street people looking to take
it over for themselves. But I have it fixed up really nice and have no
plans to move.
"Your place?" Herbie sat forward, gazing at me with those piercing brown
eyes of his.
"Sorry, Herbie."
I said my place; I guess I'd better make it clear that it's really
Herbie's. He found it first. And he knew what he was doing. It's a
prime location. Most of our streetlights have been busted so many times
no one gives a damn anymore. So we have the protection of darkness when
we go roaming at night. Sometimes I even pop the manhole cover and use
the entrance to the sewer that's right out front. Best of all it's a
high crime area, so the taxpayers go out of their way to avoid us. And
since they do, then so does the law.
I know all about taxpayers. I used to be a one. Then they said I
wasn't acting normal, that something was wrong in my head. But I knew
nothing was wrong. I knew why they wanted to get rid of me, why they put
me in the hospital. They were jealous and maybe a little scared since
they=92d discovered I had the ability to read minds.
"But they couldn't keep me locked away, could they Herbie? Once the
insurance ran out they didn't lose anytime cutting me loose. I
disappeared first chance I got, didn't I?"
He was eating the last of the PB&J sandwiches I'd made for him earlier
so he didn't bother to comment.
Where were we? Oh, I remember, we were talking about the law and our
alley. Yeah, sure, every once in a while the cops get feathers up their
butts and roust all the junkies and winos that are living on the street.
But they leave Herbie and me alone. He says that if we keep hidden from
the regular folks and don't pester them, then the law won't bother us.
He's right, the cops only look out for the ones who pay their salaries
anyway.
But the very best thing about our alley, and the number one reason we
live here, is the little alcove. Walk about twenty feet in and there it
is in the brick wall, like a small room that measures around six feet
wide by eight feet deep by ten feet high. We figure that at one time
something must have been here, maybe a generator or some other big