"Jim Munroe - Flyboy Action Figure Comes With Gas Mask" - читать интересную книгу автора (Munroe Jim) It was funny he'd do that, because I often thought of my ability as a
kind of extreme version of bending my thumb back -- ugly, unnatural and ultimately useless. "Oh bra*vo* ," I muttered, but not quietly enough. Black-haired girl looked at me. "Well," she said, "what can *you* do?" I hauled myself to a standing position. "Me?" I asked her, watching the candlelight on her face. I noticed her mascara was fucked up, and liked her more for it. Everyone else was shadows, silent watchers. And I was really going to do it. I really was. I took a breath and prepared to step out of myself. Instead, I turned my head away and puked explosively onto the formica table I had been sitting at. The candle fell over and went out. Dazed, I leaned over the table, looking at the mess I'd made. I dry-heaved, went to sit on the chair again and missed. Busted my lip wide open on the metal table leg on my way down. "Projectile vomiting. That's really . . ." "That's really *something* ." "Yeah." "Do you think he was aiming for the candle?" There was a wave of laughter and my consciousness seemed to be borne out was grateful. I had a crush on this waitress at the diner near my house. She was splashy generous with the coffee, so I found myself at Sok quite a bit during the winter. "Haven't seen you in a while," Cass said, passing by with a breakfast plate. At first I didn't think she was talking to me. Coffee and convenient location aside, Cass was the biggest attraction at Sok, and now she wasn't an exhibit any longer. Now I had to talk to her, an exciting and nerve-racking thing. Witty repartee only comes easily to me when I'm with friends. It wasn't coming now, naturally, because I was thinking of it as flirting. "I like the patios in the summer," I said lamely as she passed. My coffee, the fourth, was mostly finished, and she filled it without asking. "What was stopping you from taking a chair and sitting out front, like Frank?" she said, her eyebrows arching as she nodded towards an old Italian guy. Despite the unpleasant weather, he sat outside, a winter-steam tendril growing out of his head. "Nuh-uh," I said. "You're a gawker if you do that. Too blatant." |
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