Мгла
The Coming of the Mist.
NortonandImadedesultoryconversation,skirtingaroundtheuglypropertydisputethathadlandedusindistrictcourtandstickingwiththingsliketheRedSox’schancesandtheweather.Atlastweexhaustedourlittlestoreofsmalltalkandfellsilent.Billyfidgetedbesideme.Thelinecrawledalong.Nowwehadfrozendinnersonourrightandthemoreexpensivewinesandchampagnesonourleft.Asthelineprogresseddowntothecheaperwines,ItoyedbrieflywiththeideaofpickingupabottleofRipple,thewineofmyflamingyouth.Ididn’tdoit.Myyouthneverflamedthatmuchanyway.
"Jeez,whycan’ttheyhurryup,Dad?"Billyasked.Thatpinchedlookwasstillonhisface,andsuddenly,briefly,themistofdisquietthathadsettledovermerifted,andsomethingterriblepeeredthroughfromtheotherside-thebrightandmetallicfaceofterror.Thenitpassed.
"Keepcool,champ,"Isaid.
Wehadmadeituptothebreadracks-tothepointwherethedoublelinebenttotheleft.Wecouldseethecheckoutlanesnow,thetwothatwereopenandtheotherfour,deserted,eachwithalittlesignonthestationaryconveyorbelt,signsthatreadPLEASECHOOSEANOTHERLANEandWINSTON.Beyondthelaneswasthebigsectionedplate-glasswindowwhichgaveaviewoftheparkinglotandtheintersectionofRoutes117and302beyond.Theviewwaspartiallyobscuredbythewhite-paperbacksofsignsadvertisingcurrentspecialsandthelatestgiveaway,whichhappenedtobeasetofbookscalledTheMotherNatureEncyclopedia.
