Бойцовский клуб

           Thefightclubboysaretrackingyou. No,yousay,it’ssuchanicenight,IthinkI’llwalk. 

           It’sSaturdaynight,bowelcancernightinthebasementofFirstMethodist, andMarlaistherewhenyouarrive. 

           MarlaSingersmokinghercigarette. MarlaSingerrollinghereyes.MarlaSingerwithablackeye. 

           Yousitontheshagcarpetatoppositesidesofthemeditationcircleandtrytosummonupyourpoweranimal whileMarlaglaresatyouwithherblackeye. Youcloseyoureyesandmeditatetothepalaceofthesevendoors,andyoucanstillfeelMarla’sglare. Youcradleyourinnerchild. 

           Marlaglares. 

           Thenit’stimetohug. 

           Openyoureyes. 

           Weshouldallchooseapartner. 

           Marlacrossestheroominthreequickstepsandslapsmehardacrosstheface. 

           Shareyourselfcompletely. 

           "Youfuckingsuck-asspieceofshit,"Marlasays. 

           Aroundus,everyonestandsstaring. 

           ThenbothofMarla’sfistsarebeatingmefromeverydirection. "Youkilledsomeone,"she’sscreaming. "Icalledthepoliceandtheyshouldbehereanyminute." 

           Igrabherwristsandsay,maybethepolicewillcome,butprobablytheywon’t. 

           Marlatwistsandsaysthepolicearespeedingoverheretohookmeuptotheelectricchair andbakemyeyesoutoratleastgivemealethalinjection.