"Paul Levinson - Loose Ends (2)" - читать интересную книгу автора (Levinson Paul)

year, and knew for a fact this song came from the summer of 1962.
The air felt chilled, like maybe early October. A '59 or
'60 Fairlane 500, from which the Seasons' song seemed to be
emanating, was no more help in establishing an exact date than
the song.
The street beyond the Fairlane looked clearer and uglier
than he'd expected -- a bright messy watercolor spilling onto
itself. He wondered what his expectations about this place were
really based on. Probably more on Andrews' "Village Square" hit
of last year than the hours of 1980s film and photographs he had
reviewed till his eyes had burned with fatigue.
He spotted a blonde girl in what used to be called
dungarees walking towards him. "Uh, pardon me, Miss," he said
as nonchalantly as he could, "do you know the time ... and the
date please?"
She gave him a strange look and glanced at her watch. "A
quarter to twelve," she said, without slowing a step.
Well thanks a lot, Jeff thought. "Excuse me, Miss, I'm
sorry to bother you, but if could you tell me the date as
well..." He found himself shouting after her. She just kept
walking. He shook his head and walked the other way.
The chill was beginning to eat at him as he made his way
towards West Fourth Street and Washington Square Park. There
the usual complement of derelicts and weirdos -- some things
never change, he smiled -- were keeping the late-night vigil.
No point in trying to get a straight answer about the date from
that crew. He sighed, then noticed the quaint old phone booth
on the corner. He picked up the receiver and pumped in eight
quarters in rapid sequence to make sure he would get a
connection. "Hello, Operator, could you tell me what today's
date is?"
"The date, sir? I'm sorry, but we're only supposed to give
out numbers."
"Well, is there a number I can call to find out the date?"
A faint odor of urine permeated the booth.
"Checking, sir. No, I have a number for the time, but I
don't see one for the date."
"Well, then, do you think you could be a human being
instead of, uh, a com-puter, and tell me the date anyway?"
"I'm sorry, sir, but we're only supposed to give out
numbers."
"And have you no function in the universe or reason for
existence other than giving out numbers?"
"I have no function, sir."
Jeff slammed the phone down and shook his head. I'd make a
great diplomat, he thought. At this rate, I--
"Having trouble with the phone, Jack?" Jeff turned to find
himself addressed by -- was it a slacker or a hippie? -- about
25 years of age. "The phone company's been hangin' _every_one
up lately, man."