Бойцовский клуб

           Frommyexplodedoffice,Iridethebustothegravelturnaroundpointattheendoftheline. Thisiswherethesubdivisionspeterouttovacantlotsandplowedfields. Thedrivertakesoutasacklunchandathermosandwatchesmeinhisoverheadmirror. 

           I’mtryingtofigurewhereIcangothatthecopswon’tbelookingforme. Fromthebackofthebus,Icanseemaybetwentypeoplesittingbetweenmeandthedriver. Icountthebacksoftwentyheads. 

           Twentyshavedheads. 

           Thedrivertwistsaroundinhisseatandcallstomeinthebackseat, "Mr.Durden,sir,Ireallyadmirewhatyou’redoing." 

           I’veneverseenhimbefore. 

           "Youhavetoforgivemeforthis,"thedriversays. "Thecommitteesaysthisisyourownideasir." 

           Theshavedheadsturnaroundoneafteranother. Thenonebyonetheystand. One’sgotaraginhishand,andyoucansmelltheether. Theclosestonehasahuntingknife. Theonewiththeknifeisthefightclubmechanic. 

           "You’reabraveman,"thebusdriversays, "tomakeyourselfahomeworkassignment." 

           Themechanictellsthebusdriver, "Shutup," and"Thelookoutdoesn’tsayshit." 

           Youknowoneofthespacemonkeyshasarubberbandtowraparoundyournuts. Theyfillupthefrontofthebus. 

           Themechanicsays, "Youknowthedrill,Mr.Durden. Yousaidityourself.Yousaid,ifanyoneevertriestoshutdowntheclub, evenyou,thenwehavetogethimbythenuts."