"Jim Munroe - Flyboy Action Figure Comes With Gas Mask" - читать интересную книгу автора (Munroe Jim)

wasn't something I
wanted to study. My particular area of interest, specialized as it was, would
be for someone
with a PhD to take on -- not a dabbler like me. My major was English, and at
one point I was
thinking of making it a biology/English double major. I thought again.
It was just my latest abandoned plan for solving the mystery of my
kinship with the
*Musca domestica* . None of the answers at the back of the textbook were the
ones I needed.
"So other than the way she looks, and some witty lines, do you know
anything about
her?"
"Nope."
"I don't know anyone who waitresses full time. Judy does two shifts a
week, and she's
always complaining about how rude everyone is."
"I know she's been doing it for the last two years, at least. I wonder
if she complains to
her friends?"
"'There's this guy at work, this regular guy? He's such a creep! Always
bothering me
for refills . . .' Like that, you mean, right?"
"She doesn't sound like that at *all* ," I said, laughing. In my best
girl-voice, soft and
gushy: "'There's this incredibly interesting guy with these cool glasses? I'm
just waiting for him
to jump my bones.' More like that."
Mary laughed, shaking her long blonde hair, and made a correction to my
drawing.

A couple of days later I was doing some laundry and trying to finish off
a Balzac novel.
Exams were coming up, and one or two of the books I'd skipped in each course
turned out to
be the ones that the prof suddenly realized were *utterly seminal* works.
Luckily, I had gotten
three-quarters of the way through Balzac before I was borne away by the
biology avalanche
two months ago, so I didn't mind the pressure to finish it.
 I felt a kinship with Balzac. You gotta admire a guy who dies of a
caffeine overdose.
Shaking and babbling into the next world.
I was sitting there thinking that, then thinking about getting my next
fix, then thinking
about where I would get it, then thinking about Cass, when she passed by the
window. She was
walking along briskly, eyes on the snow, a crazy lumpy hat on her head and a
grin on her face.
It was magical, almost as if my thinking about her had brought her into being.