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I’m one of those people who doesn’t really know what he
thinks until he writes it down
Оригинал записи на Дыбре
I’m one of those people who doesn’t really know what he
thinks until he writes it down
How should I tell you, then?
In my life as a teacher, I used to hammer away at the idea
of simplicity. In both fiction and nonfiction, there’s only one
question and one answer. What happened? the reader asks.
This is what happened, the writer responds. This... and this... and this, too. Keep it simple. It’s the only sure way home.
So I’ll try, although you must always keep in mind that in
Derry, reality is a thin skim of ice over a deep lake of dark
water. But still:
What happened?
This happened. And this. And this, too.
It also occurred to me that
living in the past was a little like living underwater and
breathing through a tube.
I was six feet five, blue eyes, brown hair, weight one-ninety. I had been born on April 22, 1923, and lived at 19 Bluebird Lane in Sabattus, which happenedАхаха, Кинг тоже любит высоченных чуваков))
to be my 2011 address.
“Six-five about right?” Al asked. “I had to guess.”
“Close enough.”
Если вы думаете, что двое мужчин вокруг одной женщины сражаются за обладание этой женщиной, так этого не бывает даже в мультиках. Двое мужчин вокруг любого предмета сражаются не за предмет, а исключительно друг с другом, а предмет - это тот ринг, на котором протекает этот бой. Да, и женщина тоже. Цель мужчины - не получить эту женщину. Цель мужчины - победить другого мужчину. Женщина просто удобный повод сцепиться, а дальше они уже катаются клубком как Мцыри с барсом и на женщину плевать хотели, у них есть дела поважнее. А женщина такая скачет вокруг в недоумении, отчего это про нее все забыли, ведь так все весело начиналось, а теперь никто с ней не побегает и не поиграет, всем весело без нее.Опять все песни в тему, ну что ты будешь делать. Хорошо горим.
“Hey, Lurch,” Jess calls, and Dean stops, tense, then slowly turns.Сука они просто созданы друг для друга
His eyes flick toward a couple of old ladies who pass them, walking unnecessarily slowly, then back to Jess. “What.”
“Find somewhere else to get your construction crew’s lunch this weekend. Luke’ll be out of town, and I don’t hate Caesar enough to subject him to that complicated shit on his own.”
Jess finishes his piece, hoping it was enough for Dean to get it, and watches the gears turn. Dean’s gaze shifts from the bag of groceries dangling from Jess’s wrist back up to his face.
“Luke’ll be… out of town.”
“Leaves tonight.”
Dean’s eyes sharpen on his, and then flick away quickly. “So he’ll be… gone.”
Jess gives him a slow clap and then leans forward. “Good job. Do the Mensa people know about you?”
Jess straightens his shirt, heading toward the door, only to be yanked back by Dean’s hand in the crook of his elbow.Ты не помогаешь
“Wait! I’m still —!” he motions down at himself, and Jess nearly snorts, the prominent tent in Dean’s pants glaringly obvious.
“Tuck it up under your belt — not like it won’t reach,” Jess mutters, and Dean’s expression turns pained.
“Could you not compliment it right now?”
“Wanna go for a drive?” Jess asks.
Dean gives him an incredulous look. He uncrosses his arms. Scoffs. Crosses them again.
“With you. You’re joking, right? Like I’d ever get in a moving vehicle with you.”
“I’ve got my papers. Passed the vision test and everything. They really try and throw in some curveballs with those unlabeled road signs, but —”
Dean squares his jaw, gaze going flat.
“Oh. Right…that.” Jess clicks his tongue softly, looking away. “Shame, that was.”
Dean huffs, looking properly angry now.
“Shame? You crashed a car I built by fucking hand!” He whisper-shouts, slapping his hands onto the sill and leaning toward Jess, breaths coming fast.
Jess studies his face, trying not to smile. He may have been a bit hasty earlier, with that whole “won’t happen again” thing.
He reaches into his pocket and pulls out his used joint, twirling it for a moment and raising an eyebrow in invitation.
Dean scoffs again, standing back up. He frowns, jaw working for three seconds before he’s striding decisively across the room, locking his door from the inside, grabbing a jacket off the hook by the door, and climbing out the window.
“I’m done.”
Jess blinks.
“Done with what,” he says around the mouth of the bottle, raising one eyebrow and feigning disinterest as hard as he can, because it’s the only way to combat the dread that’s climbing up his chest. Because if Dean means what Jess thinks he means then he means he’s done with Jess. Done with whatever little game they’ve been playing all this time, done fighting for dominance, done having verbal battles and knocking his shoulder against him in the hallway at school and towering over him and looking at him like he’s a piece of shit.
And that’s just one more person to add to the list of people who’ve washed their hands of him.
His mother. His father. His entire family, in fact, except for Luke. Luke too, once he catches on that Jess isn’t following his rules, isn’t going to graduate, isn’t going to be worth anything, ever. Rory, soon enough, when she realizes the same thing.
At least when Dean is looking at him like he’s a piece of shit, he’s looking at him.
Plus, he’s had an itch under his skin ever since a certain 6’4” asshole waltzed into the diner earlier that day, placing the most pain in the ass order Jess has ever taken, and being a smug, condescending prick while he was at it.Это фик по 3.13, я чувствую, нас там ждет что-то интересное
SAM: What do we need?
BOBBY: Blood.
SAM: How much blood?
BOBBY: Ritual says near a gallon. And it's gotta be fresh, too.
SAM: Meaning we have to bleed a person dry.
BOBBY: And it's gotta be tonight. Or not for another fifty years.
SAM: Then let's go get some.
TRICKSTER: Sam, there's a lesson here that I've been trying to drill into that freakish Cro-Magnon skull of yours.
SAM: Lesson? What lesson?
TRICKSTER: This obsession to save Dean? The way you two keep sacrificing yourselves for each other? Nothing good comes out of it. Just blood and pain. Dean's your weakness. And the bad guys know it, too. It's gonna be the death of you, Sam. Sometimes you just gotta let people go.
SAM: He's my brother.
TRICKSTER: Yup. And like it or not, this is what life's gonna be like without him.
SAM: Please. Just—please.
— Что это за книга? Роман?
— Нет, детектив.
— Страшно?
— Бывает страшно, бывает и нет. В основном пугает то, как паршиво написано.
BRADY: I bet this is a real moment for you, big boy. Gonna make you feel all better? Gonna make up for all the times that we yanked your chain--Yellow eyes, Ruby, me? But it wasn't all our fault, was it? No, no, no, no. You're the one who trusted us. You're the one who let us into your life, let us whisper in your ear over and over and over again. Ever wonder why that is, Sammy? Ever wonder why we were so in your blind spot? Maybe it's because we got the same stuff in our veins and, deep down, you know you're just like us.
LUCIFER: I'm your real family.Интересно, сколько в этом прыжке было героического стремления спасти мир и искупить вину, а сколько - простого человеческого "показать этим сукам, что не всё будет по их"?
And I know you know it. All those times you ran away, you weren't running from them. You were running towards me.
Sam Winchester, this is your life. Azazel's gang–watching you since you were a rugrat, jerking you around like a dog on a leash.