Раз-два-три, ветер изменится - Глава 6 отрывок 2 - текст песни, слова, перевод, видео

Jack is unhappy with me: you do not need to particularly strain to understand what this transverse fold and tightly closed lips mean; He breaks the car from the place, unknowingly demonstrating the degree of his irritation by my slowness. Oh, how dared to think about myself! .. How did I not rush to assemble a bag for another pleasant evening on the beach!

Jack, I'm sorry, I'm sorry ... I didn’t think that my refusal could hurt you, because these unbridled incendiary parties in the company of decaying bodies are the best that was in my life! Well, if you want, we will go to golden sands or take a room in the Saint-Tropex for a week and flounder in warm water, look at the blue sky and drink cocktails from coconut shells? You know, we will get used to the coast, maybe we will open a private agency - only you, me and our dead friends ... I will cover a chocolate tan, buy myself a Hawaiian shirt and wide shorts; We will invite people to a barbecue on weekends, and on Wednesdays, yes, Jack, on Wednesdays, on the third day of the week, on this symbolic day for everyone, our penetrating friends will frolic in our pool and talk about what carmelitis from the neighboring vegetable The shops laid her eyes on one of them.

This is what everything goes, isn't it? Otherwise, how can I understand this thirst to bring me to the beaches with the dead?

In Baltimore, all seasons are similar to each other, unless in the summer a little more greenery and a little less earthy gray shade. Only now on September 4, my name is Will Graham and with complete confidence in my words, I can say that Baltimore looks like a prostitute shaved with life, retired in the 24th.

The shore is dotted with empty bags, fragments of bottles, cigarettes from cigarettes; A torn packaging from the condom hangs on the thin branches of the thistle - I try not to look around and pretend that I am extremely interested in the consistency of sand. As a child, I liked the story about the sandstone - the sand man who comes every night and creates dreams from grains of sand. I was very curious what would happen if he sprinkles this gold of Morpheus? Who will punish the sandstone for the fact that someone was left without sleep? Or did someone dream of a nightmare? Is there any justice in the unconscious or there is anarchy, and everyone creates what he wants?