Раз-два-три, ветер изменится - Глава 4 отрывок 8 - текст песни, слова, перевод, видео

Jack Crawford knows a lot of things; He knows about the state law, the statistics of crimes in Baltimore and neighboring cities, which he does not know - these are elementary rules of politeness. He does not say: “Sorry that I interrupt you,” he does not apologize for the anxiety, he throws us under our feet: “Come on, you need you at the crime scene.” And for some reason we forgot to argue, we begin to dress, and I feel how my cheeks are blushing, as if my father caught me in the room alone with the best friend while we were considering Hastler.

He breaks the car from the place as soon as we get inside, and begins to say very quickly, as if trying to have time to fix something. Jack, the time cannot be overtaken, and even if you drive the pedal into the floor, we can not do anything with the fact that another corpse lies on the beach.

- Exactly the same handwriting. Stone knife wounds. Young man. A homosexual ... Murder again on Friday - maybe this is his way to have fun after a labor week.

I look out the window and knock my finger on the glass, hoping that cracks will go along it, and I will not have to listen to these dreary news.

If the police work better if the society has become more conscious, if we are all protected by the Constitution, the law and order and the government, how does it turn out that every day hundreds of people die because none of these institutions could save them? How it turns out that we are not dying because of the car that accidentally flew to the oncoming car, not because the robber in the bank accidentally pressed the trigger, not because of medical oversights and oversight of doctors-how it turns out that we are dying of For each other's indifference?

Dr. Lecter covers his eyes and slowly claps his palm on his knee - does he know how to read thoughts and applauds my inner monologues?

If society really becomes more tolerant, if life becomes better and better every day, why then is a nineteen -year -old boy lies open in the middle of garbage and beer bottles?

“Tell me, Will,” Dr. Lecter turns to me and continues in an undertone: “For you, this is something personal, right?” Feel responsibility for his death?

“I feel responsible for all deaths,” I tell him for some reason and put my palms between my knees so as not to see my twisted fingers.