Бойцовский клуб

           Anothercar,andthemechanicscreams, "Weareallgoingtodie,someday." 

           Thistime,theoncomingcarswerves,butthemechanicswerveshackintoitspath. Thecarswerves,andthemechanicmatchesit,headon,again. 

           Youmeltandswellatthatmoment. Forthatmoment,nothingmatters. Lookupatthestarsandyou’regone. Notyourluggage.Nothingmatters.Notyourbadbreath. Thewindowsaredarkoutsideandthehornsareblaringaroundyou. Theheadlightsareflashinghighandlowandhighinyourface, andyouwillneverhavetogotoworkagain. 

           Youwillneverhavetogetanotherhaircut. 

           "Quick,"themechanicsays. 

           Thecarswervesagain,andthemechanicswervesbackintoitspath. 

           "What,"hesays,"whatwillyouwishyou’ddonebeforeyoudied?" 

           Withtheoncomingcarscreamingitshorn andthemechanicsocoolheevenlooksawaytolookatmebesidehiminthefrontseat,andhesays, "Tensecondstoimpact. 

           "Nine. 

           "Ineight. 

           "Seven. 

           "Insix." 

           Myjob,Isay.IwishI’dquitmyjob. 

           Thescreamgoesbyasthecarswervesandthemechanicdoesn’tswervetohitit. 

           Morelightsarecomingatusjustahead,andthemechanicturnstothethreemonkeysinthebackseat. "Hey,spacemonkeys,"hesays, "youseehowthegame’splayed. Fessupnoworwe’realldead."