Зеленая миля

Chapter 1

           ThechiefoneiskeepingthatsenseofRealTime,asopposedtoGeorgiaPinesTime.AndIliketherain,achesornoaches.Especiallyintheearlymorning,whenthedayisyoungandseemsfullofpossibilities,eventoawashed-upoldboylikeme.

           Iwentthroughthekitchen,stoppingtobegtwoslicesoftoastfromoneofthesleepy-eyedcooks,andthenwentout.Icrossedthecroquetcourse,thentheweedylittleputtinggreen.Beyondthatisasmallstandofwoods,withanarrowpathwindingthroughitandacoupleofsheds,nolongerusedandmoulderingawayquietly,alongtheway.Iwalkeddownthispathslowly,listeningtothesleekandsecretpatteroftheraininthepines,chewingawayatapieceoftoastwithmyfewremainingteeth.Mylegsached,butitwasalowache,manageable.MostlyIfeltprettywell.IdrewthemoistgrayairasdeepasIcould,takingitinlikefood.

           AndwhenIgottothesecondofthoseoldsheds,Iwentinforawhile,andItookcareofmybusinessthere.

           WhenIwalkedbackupthepathtwentyminuteslater,Icouldfeelawormofhungerstirringinmybelly,andthoughtIcouldeatsomethingalittlemoresubstantialthantoast.Adishofoatmeal,perhapsevenascrambledeggwithasausageontheside.Ilovesausage,alwayshave,butifIeatmorethanonethesedays,I’mapttogetthesquitters.Onewouldbesafeenough,though.

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