"Bischoff-SantaRitual" - читать интересную книгу автора (Bischoff David)

head, looking glum.

Hey. I had my own problems. Lost my girlfriend to a New Age Bullshitter. Still
deep in California-style credit-card debt. And my goddamned cats had starting
turning their noses up at the food I was feeding them. They were taking longer
alley jaunts, too, so I figured they must be getting nutrition elsewhere.

The last time I'd talked to Becky, she'd been unsympathetic. "Sounds just like
you. Why not feed them something else for a change?"

"They were strays. They were perfectly happy with generic food until you started
bringing over that Iams crap."

"You know, cats have feelings too. One of these days they just might decide
their stray life was better and not come back! Don't take them for granted like
you did me, Ted. You know you're nuts about them!"

The conversation went downhill from there.

Something wrong . . .

I was about to say something like "No presents under O Tannenbaum this year,
Jurg?" but I bit my tongue. I've only been here for six months, but I've already
realized that things are a bit off kilter in Eugene, Oregon, and reality
sometimes gets a little unstuck. I don't know, maybe it's all the rain and
gloom.

"You talk to him about it yet?"

"No. He seems too morose."

A bell dinged, snapping Jurgen out of contemplation. He brought my soup to me,
then went to wash some glasses as I set to the tangy stuff. Munching on peppery
tiger lilies reflectively, I looked over to the guy at the other end of the bar.
Jurgen had already set him up with another shot, but the guy was just staring at
it, not drinking. He just puffed on his Chesterfield from time to time, wrinkled
face squinting through the smoke.

The dissertation was going nowhere, and I didn't have a class to teach until the
next afternoon. I didn't feel like going to a movie or reading a book. I had
some time to kill, so I thought, hell. Why not give it a try?

I grunted up at the TV screen hanging in the corner from chains. "Blazers not
doing so well this year, huh?"

The old man grunted.

"Don't like basketball?"

"Nope."