Над пропастью во ржи

           ThebestpartinthewholepicturewaswhenoldOphelia’sbrother—theonethatgetsintheduelwithHamletattheveryend—wasgoingawayandhisfatherwasgivinghimalotofadvice.Whilethefatherkeptgivinghimalotofadvice,oldOpheliawassortofhorsingaroundwithherbrother,takinghisdaggeroutoftheholster,andteasinghimandallwhilehewastryingtolookinterestedinthebullhisfatherwasshooting.Thatwasnice.Igotabigbangoutofthat.Butyoudon’tseethatkindofstuffmuch.TheonlythingoldPhoebelikedwaswhenHamletpattedthisdogonthehead.Shethoughtthatwasfunnyandnice,anditwas.WhatI’llhavetodois,I’llhavetoreadthatplay.Thetroublewithmeis,Ialwayshavetoreadthatstuffbymyself.Ifanactoractsitout,Ihardlylisten.Ikeepworryingaboutwhetherhe’sgoingtodosomethingphonyeveryminute.

           AfterIgottheticketstotheLunts’show,Itookacabuptothepark.Ishould’vetakenasubwayorsomething,becauseIwasgettingslightlylowondough,butIwantedtogetoffthatdamnBroadwayasfastasIcould.

           Itwaslousyinthepark.Itwasn’ttoocold,butthesunstillwasn’tout,andtheredidn’tlookliketherewasanythingintheparkexceptdogcrapandglobsofspitandcigarbuttsfromoldmen,andthebenchesalllookedlikethey’dbewetifyousatdownonthem.Itmadeyoudepressed,andeveryonceinawhile,fornoreason,yougotgoosefleshwhileyouwalked.Itdidn’tseematalllikeChristmaswascomingsoon.Itdidn’tseemlikeanythingwascoming.ButIkeptwalkingovertotheMallanyway,becausethat’swherePhoebeusuallygoeswhenshe’sinthepark.Shelikestoskatenearthebandstand.It’sfunny.That’sthesameplaceIusedtoliketoskatewhenIwasakid.