Мгла
After the Storm. Norton. A Trip to Town.
Istuffedthelistinthebackpocketofmyjeansandtookthebeer,whichwasnotexactlyfrosty-coldbutatleastcool.Ichuggedalmosthalfofitatoncerarelydoesabeertastethatgood-andtippedthecaninsaluteatBilly."Thanks,champ."
"CanIhavesome."
Ilethimhaveaswallow.Hegrimacedandhandedthecanback.IoffedtherestandjustcaughtmyselfasIstartedtocrunchitupinthemiddle.Thedepositlawonbottlesandcanshasbeenineffectforoverthreeyears,butoldwaysdiehard.
"Shewrotesomethingacrossthebottomofthelist,butIcan’treadherwriting,"Billysaid.
Itookoutthelistagain."Ican’tgetWOXOontheradio,"Steff’snoteread."Doyouthinkthestormknockedthemofftheair?"
WOXOisthelocalautomatedFMrockoutlet.ItbroadcastfromNorway,abouttwentymilesnorth,andwasallthatouroldandfeebleFMreceiverwouldhaulin.
"Tellherprobably,"Isaid,afterreadingthequestionovertohim."AskherifshecangetPortlandontheAMband."
"Okay,Daddy,canIcomewhenyougototown?"
"Sure.YouandMommyboth,ifyouwant."
"Okay."Heranbacktothehousewiththeemptycan.
Ihadworkedmywayuptothebigtree.Imademyfirstcut,sawedthrough,thenturnedthesawoffforafewmomentstoletitcooldown-thetreewasreallytoobigforit,butIthoughtitwouldbeallrightifIdidn’trushit.IwonderedifthedirtroadleadinguptoKansasRoadwasclearoffalls,andjustasIwaswondering,anorangeCMPtrucklumberedpast,probablyonitswaytothefarendofourlittleroad.
