"Perry, Steve - JustAsk" - читать интересную книгу автора (Perry Steven)

Again.

Okay, fine, it wasn't yellow, if your idea of yellow was Tweety Bird or mustard,
it was more of a sand color, maybe a little darker than a manila folder, but as
far as he was concerned, that was yellow enough and that stinking hue ran all
the way to its rotten heart.

And, given that he had spent most of yesterday and the day before painting the
front of the house with Sears' best Weatherbeater(TM) latex in a nice warm blue
-- some gray in it -- it was really beginning to piss him off.

Hathorne came out next door and cast a baleful gaze at Sam in his underwear.
Hathorne was sixty-three, retired early from the state. He ambled over to where
Sam stood and looked at the front of the house.

"I saw you out here yesterday with the sprayer and all. I thought you were going
to paint it blue," he said.

Hathorne was on the board of the neighborhood association and thus privy to the
architectural committee's necessary pre-approval of all painting or renovations
in the subdivision. You couldn't cut down a dead bush without getting permission
from those yahoos. They were all a bunch of Nazis, as far as Sam was concerned.
Not counting Sam and Carly and Tabitha and that one black family down the
street, the whole of Beaverton was white Republicans as far as the eye could see
and they liked "earth tones" here in the lovely Four Seasons development.
Newcomers from SoCal quickly recognized Beaverton as Orange County north and
that it was held up by pillars of ticky-tacky conformity. You could shoot the
new adventures of Leave it to Beaver here, if you wanted. He still wasn't sure
how they'd wound up living here. Something to do with the school district Carly
wanted for Tabby. Carly usually got what she wanted.

"I did paint it blue. Somebody must have Shuck over here in the middle of the
night and repainted it yellow again."

"I wouldn't call that yellow," Hathorne said, looking at the house. "More of a
sand color. Manila, maybe --"

"Whatever! Anyway, this is the second time it happened."

"How odd."

Sam sipped at his coffee again. "Yeah, well, it may be odd, but it isn't funny."

"Well. I've got to go. You gonna paint it again?"

"Damned right I am."

"Might put on some clothes. Otherwise you might give old Mrs. Jackson across the
street another heart attack."