"Vukcevich-RugRats" - читать интересную книгу автора (Vukcevich Ray)

explosion would be so cold and sweet, and you'd push the jelly against the roof
of your mouth and roll the berries with your tongue and feel the soft sticks and
you'd shiver and squeeze your eyes shut and your Morn would laugh like music.

Nancy leans in and kisses me on the cheek.

Jack gives me a big thumbs up and takes out his rusty razor blade. "Turkey
time." He cuts off the end of the frank and the smell of our holiday feast fills
the air.

There is a low rumbling a massive shuffling, and I see children rise from
cardboard boxes; I see them slip from their alley hideaways; I see them pop like
sudden flowers from the carcasses of toppled cars, so many children, ragged
waves of hunger closing in on us.

I panic. There will never be enough! And then I feel so ashamed of that
mean-spirited thought, but Jack shakes his head at me and I know that he knows I
didn't mean it; it's just that I am who I am, and he's Jack who rises and opens
his arms to the multitude.

And the children gather at his feet, and when they've settled, Jack cuts the
turkey frank with his razor blade, paper thin slice after paper thin slice,
endlessly, wafers for the tongues of baby birds, and he feeds the children, each
and every one.