Headstone

Начало книги

“Christ, that was good.”

Another Jay?

Tempting?

Phew-oh.

But he’d had two alongside the batter of pints already. Primarily, he needed a cig. That tipped the balance. He could already feel the first hit of ferocious nicotine. He moved from his stool, brushed the dandruff from his jacket. Normally he didn’t notice it but he’d caught sight of himself in the old mirror with the slogan,

“My Goodness, My Guinness.”

And a frazzled comic zookeeper chasing a pelican with pints of the black in his beak. Nearly made him smile; you just didn’t see those ancient slogans anymore. More’s the Irish pity. He cursed anew those damn black jackets that showed up every fleck of white. Like stranded drops of snow. He said,

“Night all.”

Got a few muttered,

“God bless.”

No warmth though.

Fecking media had given his profession the taint of leprosy. Grudgingly, he conceded the fact he hadn’t paid for any of his drinks the whole evening might be a factor.

Читать дальше →