"Eliot Fintushel - Izzy and the Father of Terror" - читать интересную книгу автора (Fintushel Eliot)

With your mama singing lullabies to
baby-boo . . .

. . . used automobiles, paid political
announcements, weather reports . . .

"Wait a damn minute," Izzy said. "Turn it
back to the Haymakers, Duke. I wanna hear
that song."

"Haymakers, Izzy?"

"Gimme that." He pushed Sarvaduhka’s hand
away and manned the radio dial himself. I
felt as if someone were reaming my navel.
The smears of sound as the needle skimmed
the tuner scale were gurgles of cud
surging up my throat. Finally he found it.
There were the slightly off-key notes and
bad mixing that signal a live performance:

I’m gonna bring you right back some day.

Though you may be far away,

I can always pull a little stunt

That the folks call "epoché"

"Epoché?" Sarvaduhka took his eyes off the
road?me, a flat, black triangle long as
the desert, wide as the squareback here,
beetling to a point out there, and dotted
with my Bott’s dot vertebrae?to frown at
Izzy. "Did the Haymaker say epoché, Izzy?"

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"Shut up! I gotta hear this."

Take a long lost dad’s advice:

Though yore mama’s Guldang nice,

Save a little bit of love for
yodelodelayhee-me!