"Janet Morris - Crusaders In Hell" - читать интересную книгу автора (Morris Janet E)

everything he would have told Enkidu of the adventures awaiting them.
Gilgamesh did this with a heart that was heavy, but not unbearably heavy.
Enkidu had gone off with the caravan woman, this was certain: neither of their
bodies were among the slain.
Gilgamesh, like Enkidu, was not alone.


CRUSADERS IN LOVE
Bill Kerby
Copyright (c) 1887 by Bill Kerby

Hey, wait a minute, who the hell is this Lefty Armbruster anyway? Am I suppose
to know him? My answering service is about to go ape; he just keeps calling.
This is not exactly the choicest time to be bugging me for favors, either. I'm
not the kind of guy who doesn't remember who he's been, believe me. But all of
a sudden Robin and I are flooded with attention - we are on the "A-list,"
everybody's new best friend. We go down to City Cafe and every head turns.
They want us to be celebrity judges on Dance Fever. We stand in a movie line
and the guy comes out and takes us right in. Free popcorn, too. My lawyer
finally returns my calls. Suddenly, it doesn't seem to be my turn in the rain
barrel anymore, as the old saying goes.
When I came to this weird beard town, I hadn't exactly fallen on" the turnip
truck. I'd been in the Marine Corps standing tall (I will walk my post in a
military manner, keeping always on the alert, and observing everything that
takes place within sight or hearing, sir!), struggled in New York as a
starving actor (my hottest moment was. when Morty himself, drunker than a
skunk, tried to pick me up in F.A.O. Schwartz), plus I got involved in some
semi-shady stuff which I'll tell you about later, okay?
But how the hell can you prepare yourself for L.A.?
It's sixty-two miles wide at one point, every living soul in it is on the make
if we're going to be honest about it, - and there are - by actual count - more
Mercedeses than there are Plymouths! Go figure. The weather's always nice, and
half the people give you that empty grin and tell you to have a nice day,
while the other half are cutting your heart out with a rusty hacksaw. They got
championship sports, championship business, and championship pussy. If it's
Wednesday where you are, I don't care, it's already Saturday out here! At the
top, you can go anywhere, do anything, be anybody. And at the very bottom, you
know in your soul that you've come as far as you can go in continental limits
before you've run out of plans. This is IT, babeee. Last chance saloon.
So you get a car, you start hanging out, and you do the breast stroke through
the panic and dead dreams of the jerks at the bar. Everywhere you look"
mirrors. You can see yourself. Or you can be yourself.
Bo, it's sad.
Time: 3:30 A.M. Monday, April 10. Los Angeles Police Department, Officers
Fishbeck and McConnell, North Hollywood Division. Automobile A was traveling
south on Laurel Canyon Boulevard at a high rate of speed. It was a 1958
Triumph convertible, red in color with a tan leather interior. It was not
equipped with safety belts. Skid marks indicated that automobile A had crossed
the double yellow lines just south of Croft Street, which intersects Laurel
Canyon Boulevard to the east. The weather was clear, the pavement was dry.