Гроздья гнева
Chapter 2
Thehitch-hikerstoodupandlookedacrossthroughthewindows.«Couldyagivemealift,mister?»Thedriverlookedquicklybackattherestaurantforasecond.«Didn’tyouseetheNoRidersstickeronthewin’shield?»
«Sure—Iseenit.Butsometimesaguy’llbeagoodguyevenifsomerichbastardmakeshimcarryasticker.»
Thedriver,gettingslowlyintothetruck,consideredthepartsofthisanswer.Ifherefusednow,notonlywashenotagoodguy,buthewasforcedtocarryasticker,wasnotallowedtohavecompany.Ifhetookinthehitch-hikerhewasautomaticallyagoodguyandalsohewasnotonewhomanyrichbastardcouldkickaround.Heknewhewasbeingtrapped,buthecouldn’tseeawayout.Andhewantedtobeagoodguy.Heglancedagainattherestaurant.«Scrunchdownontherunningboardtillwegetaroundthebend,"hesaid.
Thehitch-hikerfloppeddownoutofsightandclungtothedoorhandle.Themotorroaredupforamoment,thegearsclickedin,andthegreattruckmovedaway,firstgear,secondgear,thirdgear,andthenahighwhiningpick-upandfourthgear.Undertheclingingmanthehighwayblurreddizzilyby.Itwasamiletothefirstturnintheroad,thenthetrucksloweddown.Thehitch-hikerstoodup,easedthedooropen,andslippedintotheseat.Thedriverlookedoverathim,slittinghiseyes,andhechewedasthoughthoughtsandimpressionswerebeingsortedandarrangedbyhisjawsbeforetheywerefinallyfiledawayinhisbrain.Hiseyesbeganatthenewcap,moveddownthenewclothestothenewshoes.Thehitch-hikersquirmedhisbackagainsttheseatincomfort,tookoffhiscap,andswabbedhissweatingforeheadandchinwithit.«Thanks,buddy,"hesaid.«Mydogswaspoopedout.»
