Бойцовский клуб
Chapter 6
Tylersaid, "Cool."
Isaid,hitmeagain.
Tylersaid, "No,youhitme."
SoIhithim,agirl’swideroundhousetorightunderhisear,andTylershovedmebackandstompedtheheelofhisshoeinmystomach. Whathappenednextandafterthatdidn’thappeninwords,butthebarclosedandpeoplecameoutandshoutedaroundusintheparkinglot.
InsteadofTyler,IfeltfinallyIcouldgetmyhandsoneverythingintheworldthatdidn’twork,mycleaningthatcamebackwiththecollarbuttonsbroken,thebankthatsaysI’mhundredsofdollarsoverdrawn. MyjobwheremybossgotonmycomputerandfiddledwithmyDOSexecutecommands. AndMarlaSinger,whostolethesupportgroupsfromme.
Nothingwassolvedwhenthefightwasover,butnothingmattered.
ThefirstnightwefoughtwasaSundaynight,andTylerhadn’tshavedallweekendsomyknucklesburnedrawfromhisweekendbeard. Lyingonourbacksintheparkinglot,staringupattheonestarthatcamethroughthestreetlights,IaskedTylerwhathe’dbeenfighting.
Tylersaid,hisfather.
Maybewedidn’tneedafathertocompleteourselves. There’snothingpersonalaboutwhoyoufightinfightclub. Youfighttofight. You’renotsupposedtotalkaboutfightclub,butwetalkedandforthenextcoupleofweeks,guysmetinthatparkinglotafterthebarhadclosed,andbythetimeitgotcold,anotherbarofferedthebasementwherewemeetnow.
