Мгла
The Coming of the Mist.
AcoupleofglassesofwinetonightafterBillyhadsackedout,thenmaybealongslowboutoflovemakingbeforesleep.
Ileftthecartandworkedmywaydowntothewineandgotabottle.AsIwalkedbackIpassedthebigdoubledoorsleadingtothestorageareaandheardthesteadyroarofagood-sizedgenerator.
Idecideditwasprobablyjustbigenoughtokeepthecoldcasescold,butnotlargeenoughtopowerthedoorsandcashregistersandalltheotherelectricalequipment.Itsoundedlikeamotorcyclebackthere.
Nortonappearedjustaswegotintoline,balancingtwosix-packsofSchlitzLight,aloafofbread,andthekielbasaIhadspottedafewminutesearlier.HegotinlinewithBillyandme.Itseemedverywarminthemarketwiththeairconditioningoff,andIwonderedwhynoneofthestockboyshadatleastchockedthedoorsopen.IhadseenBuddyEagletoninhisredaprontwoaislesback,doingnothingandpilingitup.Thegeneratorroaredmonotonously.Ihadthebeginningsofaheadache.
"Putyourstuffinherebeforeyoudropsomething,"Isaid.
"Thanks."
Thelineswereuppastthefrozenfoodnow;peoplehadtocutthroughtogetwhattheywantedandtherewasmuchexcuse-me-ingandpardon-me-ing."Thisisgoingtobeacunt,"Nortonsaidmorosely,andIfrownedalittle.ThatsortoflanguageisrougherthanI’dlikeBillytohear.
Thegenerator’sroarmutedalittleasthelineshuffledforward.
