Вино из одуванчиков

           Heheldhiscoinbankupandheardthefaintsmalltinkling,theairyweightofmoneythere.

           Whateveryouwant,hethought,yougottomakeyourownway.Duringthenightnow,let’sfindthatpaththroughtheforest...

           Downtown,thestorelightswentout,onebyone.Awindblewinthewindow.Itwaslikearivergoingdownstreamandhisfeetwantingtogowithit.

           Inhisdreamsheheardarabbitrunningrunningrunninginthedeepwarmgrass.

           OldMr.Sandersonmovedthroughhisshoestoreastheproprietorofapetshopmustmovethroughhisshopwherearekenneledanimalsfromeverywhereintheworld,touchingeachonebrieflyalongtheway.Mr.Sandersonbrushedhishandsovertheshoesinthewindow,andsomeofthemwerelikecatstohimandsomewerelikedogs;hetouchedeachpairwithconcern,adjustinglaces,fixingtongues.Thenhestoodintheexactcenterofthecarpetandlookedaround,nodding.

           Therewasasoundofgrowingthunder.

           Onemoment,thedoortoSanderson’sShoeEmporiumwasempty.Thenext,DouglasSpauldingstoodclumsilythere,staringdownathisleathershoesasiftheseheavythingscouldnotbepulledupoutofthecement.Thethunderhadstoppedwhenhisshoesstopped.Now,withpainfulslowness,daringtolookonlyatthemoneyinhiscuppedhand,DouglasmovedoutofthebrightsunlightofSaturdaynoon.