"Robert Rankin - The Hollow Chocolate Bunnies of the Apocalypse" - читать интересную книгу автора (Rankin Robert)

'There,' cried Jack. 'An eatery.'

If horses can sigh, then Anthrax did. And as they reached Nadine's Diner, Jack clambered down,
secured Anthrax's reins to a post which may or may not have been there for the purpose, promised the
horse food and drink, as soon as he had taken some for himself, squared up his narrow, sagging
shoulders and put his hand to the restaurant door.

The door was an all-glass affair, somewhat cracked and patched, but none the less serviceable. Jack
pushed upon it and entered the establishment.

It wasn't exactly a home from home.

Unoccupied tables and chairs were arranged to no particular pattern. Music of an indeterminate nature
drifted from somewhere or other. A bar counter, running the length of the long, low room, was attended
by a single fellow, dressed in the manner of a chef. He viewed Jack's arrival with a blank expression —
but a blank expression mostly shadowed, for several bulbs had gone above the bar and he obviously
hadn't got around to replacing them.

Jack steered his weary feet across a carpet that was much of a muchness as carpets went, but hardly
much of anything as they might go. He squared up his shoulders somewhat more, squinted towards the
dimly lit chef and hailed this fellow thusly:

'Good evening to you, chef,' hailed Jack.

'Eh?' replied the other in ready response.

'A good evening,' said Jack. And, glancing around the deserted restaurant, 'Business is quiet this
evening.'

'Is it?' The chef cast his shadowed gaze over Jack. 'You're blue,' he observed. 'Why so this facial
blueness? Is it some new whim of fashion from the House ofOh Boy! that I am hitherto unacquainted
with? Should I be ordering myself a pot of paint?'

'Inferior cap,' said Jack, taking off his inferior cap and wiping his face with it.

'That's made matters worse,' said the chef.

'Might I see a menu?’ Jack asked.

The barlord scratched his forehead, then wiped his scratching hand upon his apron. 'Is that a trick
question?' he asked. 'Because I can't be having with trick questions. Chap came in here a couple of
weeks ago and said to me, "Do you know that your outhouse is on fire?" and I said to him, "Is that a trick
question?" and he said to me, "No it isn't." And I was pleased about that, see, because I can't be having
with trick questions. But damn me, if I didn't take a crate of empties outside about an hour later to find
that my outhouse had been burned to the ground. What do you make of a thing like that, eh?' Jack
shrugged.
'And well may you shrug,' said the chef. 'So your question is not a trick question?'

'No,' said Jack, 'it's not.'