Над пропастью во ржи

           IsweartoGod,ifIwereapianoplayeroranactororsomethingandallthosedopesthoughtIwasterrific,I’dhateit.Iwouldn’tevenwantthemtoclapforme.Peoplealwaysclapforthewrongthings.IfIwereapianoplayer,I’dplayitinthegoddamcloset.Anyway,whenhewasfinished,andeverybodywasclappingtheirheadsoff,oldErnieturnedaroundonhisstoolandgavethisveryphony,humblebow.Likeasifhewasahelluvahumbleguy,besidesbeingaterrificpianoplayer.Itwasveryphony—Imeanhimbeingsuchabigsnobandall.Inafunnyway,though,Ifeltsortofsorryforhimwhenhewasfinished.Idon’teventhinkheknowsanymorewhenhe’splayingrightornot.Itisn’tallhisfault.Ipartlyblameallthosedopesthatclaptheirheadsoff—they’dfoulupanybody,ifyougavethemachance.Anyway,itmademefeeldepressedandlousyagain,andIdamnneargotmycoatbackandwentbacktothehotel,butitwastooearlyandIdidn’tfeelmuchlikebeingallalone.

           Theyfinallygotmethisstinkingtable,rightupagainstawallandbehindagoddampost,whereyoucouldn’tseeanything.Itwasoneofthosetinylittletablesthatifthepeopleatthenexttabledon’tgetuptoletyouby—andtheyneverdo,thebastards—youpracticallyhavetoclimbintoyourchair.IorderedaScotchandsoda,whichismyfavoritedrink,nexttofrozenDaiquiris.Ifyouwereonlyaroundsixyearsold,youcouldgetliquoratErnie’s,theplacewassodarkandall,andbesides,nobodycaredhowoldyouwere.Youcouldevenbeadopefiendandnobody’dcare.

           Iwassurroundedbyjerks.I’mnotkidding.Atthisothertinytable,righttomyleft,practicallyontopofme,therewasthisfunny-lookingguyandthisfunny-lookinggirl.