"FWLS58" - читать интересную книгу автора (A Future We'd Like to See)

isn't the same.

"Hello?" she asks, honeysweet voice over cheap-ass Radio
Shack transistors.

"Dana. Gotta problem. Someone swiped Beat Box," I say,
pacing on the jerk's lawn.

"WHAT?"

"No panic. Can you swing by 4565 Terrincoat Lane with the
bike? I need some transport."

"I'm not done the bike yet," she say. "It still needs
tuning to your specifications--"

"Doesn't matter," I say. "I need wheels. Can it at least
ride?"

"Certainly. Give me SOME credit," she says. "I'll be right
by."

Click. Silence. God, I hate silence.

Dana's Beat Bike was my last chance at catching this loser.
It was faster, turned better, and generally was an improvement
over her old design for Beat Box. (If you go out with an
Engineering / Classical Music Double Major, you'll get neat toys
like this too.)

Still, I had a good five minute wait before she'd be by with
the bike. Five minute rest in the song. Argh. The only sounds
I could hear were the traditional semi-rural cricket annoyances
and the faint streams of sitcom music floating across the breeze.
Almost enough to choke the ears, but not enough. Just leaves a
bad taste in the aural canals.

*

My head is pounding with the lack of music when Beat Bike
pulls up, not making a sound.

"Dana?" I ask, not sure if that was her. Beat Bike was
never quiet while it was moving. Goes against the idea.

"Yeah?" she asks, pulling off her helmet, knocking off her
glasses accidentally. I had seen her do this enough times to
already be there to scoop them up and hand them back to her.

"Thanks," Dana says, putting her glasses back on. "Anyway,