Над пропастью во ржи

           Youneverknewifhewasnoddingalotbecausehewasthinkingandall, orjustbecausehewasaniceoldguythatdidn’tknowhisassfromhiselbow. 

           "WhatdidDr.Thurmersaytoyou,boy? Iunderstandyouhadquitealittlechat." 

           "Yes,wedid.Wereallydid. Iwasinhisofficeforaroundtwohours,Iguess." 

           "What’dhesaytoyou?" 

           "Oh...well,aboutLifebeingagameandall. 

           Andhowyoushouldplayitaccordingtotherules. Hewasprettyniceaboutit. Imeanhedidn’thittheceilingoranything. HejustkepttalkingaboutLifebeingagameandall. Youknow." 

           "Lifeisagame,boy. Lifeisagamethatoneplaysaccordingtotherules." 

           "Yes,sir.Iknowitis.Iknowit." 

           Game,myass.Somegame. Ifyougetonthesidewhereallthehot-shotsare,thenit’sagame,allright —I’lladmitthat. Butifyougetontheotherside,wheretherearen’tanyhot-shots, thenwhat’sagameaboutit? Nothing. Nogame. "HasDr.Thurmerwrittentoyourparentsyet?"oldSpenceraskedme. 

           "HesaidhewasgoingtowritethemMonday." 

           "Haveyouyourselfcommunicatedwiththem?" 

           "No,sir,Ihaven’tcommunicatedwiththem, becauseI’llprobablyseethemWednesdaynightwhenIgethome."