Бойцовский клуб

           Icomehome,andthere’saguystandingonourfrontporch. Theguy’satthefrontdoorwithhissecondblackshirt andpantsinabrownpapersackandhe’sgotthelastthreeitems, awhitetowel,anarmysurplusmattress,andaplasticbowl,setontheporchrailing. Fromanupstairswindow,TylerandIpeekoutattheguy, andTylertellsmetosendtheguyaway. 

           "He’stooyoung,"Tylersays. 

           TheguyontheporchismisterangelfacewhomItriedtodestroythenightTylerinventedProjectMayhem. Evenwithhistwoblackeyesandblondcrewcut, youseehistoughprettyscowlwithoutwrinklesorscars. Puthiminadressandmakehimsmile,andhe’dbeawoman. Misterangeljuststandshistoesagainstthefrontdoor,justlooksstraightaheadintothesplinteringwoodwithhishandsathissides, wearingblackshoes,blackshirt,blackpairoftrousers. 

           "Getridofhim,"Tylertellsme."He’stooyoung." 

           Iaskhowyoungistooyoung? 

           "Itdoesn’tmatter,"Tylersays."Iftheapplicantisyoung,wetellhimhe’stooyoung. Ifhe’sfat,he’stoofat. Ifhe’sold,he’stooold. 

           Thin,he’stoothin. White,he’stoowhite.Black,he’stooblack." 

           ThisishowBuddhisttempleshavetestedapplicantsgoingbackforbahzillionyears,Tylersays.