"Smeds-MarathonRunner" - читать интересную книгу автора (Smeds Dave)

have stayed there if the place weren't shutting down."

"Could be," Neil said. He sighed. "Let's go."

Traffic seemed to part magically in front of them, quiet except for the wind of
passage and an occasional cranked up music system. Matthew, as if sensing NeWs
lack of interest in conversation, kept himself busy manually guiding the car,
though the navigation menu prompted him as to what speed to travel, and when to
change lanes, in order to maintain the symphony of cross-town transit.

Matthew really was looking good. He held the steering wheel with a teenage grace
and ease. Neil lifted his own palm, stared at the creases, and after a slight
pause, pulled down the visor to look in its tiny mirror.

Moles and liver spots disfigured his bald head. The translucent pallor of his
complexion was relieved only by the rosette stain of burst capillaries. Wrinkles
-- no, crevasses -- lined a face rendered gnomelike by passing decades.

He lifted up the visor, and turned back to the scenery. He blinked in surprise.
They were arriving at their destination. Miles had vanished, lost to the mirror.

"Dr. Rosen said to have him paged from the lobby," Matthew reminded him -- Neil
Hated it when young folks imagined he had no memory capacity.

"Do you want me to go in with you?"

"No. I can manage on my own."

Matthew chuckled. "I'll pick you up here tomorrow at 10:00 sharp."

"You'll be late," Neil said. He hobbled into the clinic as resolutely as his
one-hundred-twenty-year-old legs could carry him.

In the morning Matthew was on time, of course, tardiness cured by the deliberate
skepticism. The young man was leaning against the car as Neil stepped out the
door ahead of Dr. Rosen and strode briskly down the walkway.

Matthew's eyes telescoped outward like a cartoon character. "Gramps?" he asked.

"I'm not sure," Neil answered, voice firm and deep. "You tell me."

Matthew grinned and opened the car door. "Looks like they got every molecule in
the right place." He slapped his grandfather on the back, a firm tap that, only
a day earlier, would have caused a stagger. "Come on. You'll want to get home
and see your new room."

"I can't wait," Neil said, deadpan.

Neil slid gracefully into his seat, and had his door closed before Matthew could
assist. Through the open window poured the aromas of heavy dew and mulch from