Бойцовский клуб
Chapter 5
Homewasacondominiumonthefifteenthfloorofahigh-rise,asortoffilingcabinetforwidowsandyoungprofessionals. Themarketingbrochurepromisedafootofconcretefloor,ceiling,andwallbetweenmeandanyadjacentstereoorturned-uptelevision. Afootofconcreteandairconditioning,youcouldn’topenthewindowssoevenwithmapleflooringanddimmerswitches, allseventeenhundredairtightfeetwouldsmelllikethelastmealyoucookedoryourlasttriptothebathroom.
Yeah,andtherewerebutcherblockcountertopsandlow-voltagetracklighting.
Still,afootofconcreteisimportantwhenyournext-doorneighborletsthebatteryonherhearingaidgoandhastowatchhergameshowsatfullblast. Orwhenavolcanicblastofburninggasanddebristhatusedtobeyourliving-roomsetandpersonaleffectsblowsoutyourfloor-to-ceilingwindowsandsailsdownflamingtoleavejustyourcondo,onlyyours,aguttedcharredconcreteholeinthecliffsideofthebuilding.
Thesethingshappen.
Everything,includingyoursetofhand-blowngreenglassdisheswiththetinybubblesandimperfections,littlebitsofsand,prooftheywerecraftedbythehonest,simple,hard-workingindigenousaboriginalpeoplesofwherever,well,thesedishesallgetblownoutbytheblast. Picturethefloor-to-ceilingdrapesblownoutandflamingtoshredsinthehotwind.
Fifteenfloorsoverthecity,thisstuffcomesflamingandbashingandshatteringdownoneveryone’scar.
Me,whileI’mheadingwest,asleepatMach0.83or455milesanhour,trueairspeed,theFBIisbomb-squadingmysuitcaseonavacatedrunwaybackatDulles.
