"Vukcevich-TheFinger" - читать интересную книгу автора (Vukcevich Ray)

So what could he do but flip her off?

She narrowed her eyes, said, "All right for you, Bobby. You asked for it." She
raised an eyebrow.

What was it, he wondered, with these women and their eyebrows? Something pulled
his eyes closed, and when he touched his face, he discovered that his eyelashes
had grown long and heavy, so long, in fact, that they fell to his chest. He had
to take a handful of eyelashes in each hand and pull them up and away from his
eyes before he could see Molly standing there smirking with one hand on a cocked
hip and a cigarette in the other. She blew a smoky kiss his way.

"I don't suppose you'd let me shine my gee man flashlight in your face?" Bobby
asked.

"JC doesn't like that kind of talk, Bobby." She put her hand on the dog's head.

"You named your dog after Jesus Christ?"

"No. After Joseph Campbell."

Like that was his cue, the dog jumped up, circled around young Bobby B, and bit
him in the seat of the pants.

Bobby dropped his eyelashes, but he could still see the sudden light. Teen
epiphany. He was seized by a sudden need to rip off his clothes, run into the
woods, and beat on a drum until his father came down out of the trees.

He turned and shouldered his way through the ragged refugees toward the end of
Main Street and the wilderness beyond.

Just outside the remains of town, Edward jumped up from behind a big Ocotillo
and flipped Bobby off with both hands while doing a shimmy like he had a tail to
wag. "Take that, beaver face!" he shouted.

"Same to you!" Bobby grinned and flipped Edward off so hard his cousin's ears
were pinned back.

"All right!" Edward slugged Bobby in the shoulder, and the two of them walked
on, and as they walked, guys popped up from behind cacti to take potshots with
that one finger salute. Snick. Snick. Like a running gun battle, but Bobby and
Edward were too fast, and the vanquished soon fell in behind them, and by the
time the sun had set, a Society of Men had formed.

They built a fire. They killed and cooked some rabbits. The moon soon gave them
the cold shoulder. Coyotes sang. Backslapping, spitting, and farting, the men
squatted with their drams in a circle around Bobby, who would soon exclaim sweet
gee manly poetry.