"Practical Demonkeeping A Comedy Of Horrors" - читать интересную книгу автора (Moore Christopher)

The Breeze blew into San Junipero in the shotgun seat of Billy Winston s

Pinto wagon. The Pinto lurched dangerously from shoulder to centerline, the

result of Billy trying to roll a joint one-handed while balancing a Coors

tallboy and bopping to the Bob Marley song that crackled through the stereo.

We be jammin now, mon! Billy said, toasting The Breeze with a slosh of

the Coors.

The Breeze shook his head balefully. Keep the can down, watch the road, let

me roll the doobie, he said.

Sorry, Breeze, Billy said. I m just stoked that we re on the road.

Billy s admiration for The Breeze was boundless. The Breeze was truly cool, a

party renaissance man. He spent his days at the beach and his nights in a

cloud of sinsemilla. The Breeze could smoke all night, polish off a bottle of

tequila, maintain well enough to drive the forty miles back to Pine Cove

without arousing the suspicion of a single cop, and be on the beach by nine

the next morning acting as if the term hangover were too abstract to be

considered. On Billy Winston s private list of personal heroes The Breeze

ranked second only to David Bowie.

The Breeze twisted the joint, lit it, and handed it to Billy for the first

hit.

What are we celebrating? Billy croaked, trying to hold in the smoke.

The Breeze held up a finger to mark the question, while he dug the Dionysian

Book of Days: An Occasion for Every Party from the pocket of his Hawaiian

shirt. He flipped through the pages until he found the correct date. Nambian

Independence Day, he announced.