"FWLS39" - читать интересную книгу автора (A Future We'd Like to See)

varying quantities, but never in radical deviation from the norm.

25 tables, 1 candle per table, two chairs per table.
1 bar, with 2 bartenders.
1 stage, usually with a 3-man band.
2 fire exits.
10 ominous spotlights.
13 patrons, 6 of which are drunk.

And of course, me, in my blue shirt. I figured this was
some dramatic way of handling a blind date... you know, all the
other person knows is that you'd be wearing a particular item of
clothing. For the first ten minutes, though, no women walked up
to me and introduced themselves except the bartender, and she
just wanted me to buy a drink.

"Why?"

"Two drink minimum," she said. "Come on, cough it up."

I bought two grape sodas and had a seat. The band was
playing some polka/rap song, every instrument using a different
tempo. This wasn't because the band was bad, it's just the way
you played polka/rap. Didn't care for it much myself.

There was a violent fit of sneezing at the door, and a
hunched figure wandered through the smoky room. It looked about,
spotted me, and homed in.

"Hi," she sniffled, rubbing her nose with a hanky. "Are you
Justin?"

"Yeah... who're you?"

"Nancy. Hello. Cupid called me up and said he had the
perfect match for me... just show up here and look for a guy in a
blue shirt."

"So he paired us up?" I asked, confused.

I mean, she was kinda homely. Really! She was perpetually
hunched over, with a pale face and stringy blond hair. You
couldn't make much figure out of the huge parka she was wearing,
or even a hairstyle because of the warm winter cap... ugh. Hang
on a second. Why was I judging her by appearances? Cupid did
pick her for me, which means there must be something else that'll
make us fit together like two peas in a pod. Just a matter of
figuring out what that was.

"I guess so, yeah," she said, sitting down at my table.