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- Стр. 3/501
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"
So
leave
.
I
’
ve
got
my
car
,
"
Lydia
said
.
"
I
can
get
back
to
my
place
.
"
Peter
ran
to
the
door
.
He
stopped
and
turned
.
"
All
right
,
Chinaski
!
Don
’
t
forget
what
I
brought
you
!
"
He
slammed
the
door
and
was
gone
.
Lydia
sat
down
on
the
couch
,
near
the
door
.
I
sat
about
a
foot
away
from
her
.
I
looked
at
her
.
She
looked
marvelous
.
I
was
afraid
.
I
reached
out
and
touched
her
long
hair
.
The
hair
was
magic
.
I
pulled
my
hand
away
.
"
Is
all
that
hair
really
yours
?
"
I
asked
.
I
knew
it
was
.
"
Yes
,
"
she
said
,
"
it
is
.
"
I
put
my
hand
under
her
chin
and
very
awkwardly
I
tried
to
turn
her
head
toward
mine
.
I
was
not
confident
in
these
situations
.
I
kissed
her
lightly
.
Lydia
jumped
up
.
"
I
’
ve
got
to
go
.
I
’
m
paying
a
baby
sitter
.
"
"
Look
,
"
I
said
,
"
stay
.
I
’
ll
pay
.
Just
stay
a
while
.
"
"
No
,
I
can
’
t
,
"
she
said
,
"
I
’
ve
got
to
go
.
"
She
walked
to
the
door
.
I
followed
her
.
She
opened
the
door
.
Then
she
turned
.
I
reached
for
her
one
last
time
.
She
lifted
up
her
face
and
gave
me
the
tiniest
kiss
.
Then
she
pulled
away
and
put
some
typed
papers
in
my
hand
.
The
door
closed
.
I
sat
on
the
couch
with
the
papers
in
my
hand
and
listened
to
her
car
start
.
The
poems
were
stapled
together
,
mimeographed
and
called
HERRRR
.
I
read
some
of
them
.
They
were
interesting
,
full
of
humor
and
sexuality
,
but
badly
written
.
They
were
by
Lydia
and
her
three
sisters
-
all
so
jolly
and
brave
and
sexy
together
.
I
threw
the
sheets
away
and
I
opened
my
pint
of
whiskey
.
It
was
dark
outside
.
The
radio
played
mostly
Mozart
and
Brahms
and
the
Bee
.
A
day
or
so
later
I
got
a
poem
in
the
mail
from
Lydia
.
It
was
a
long
poem
and
it
began
:
Come
out
,
old
troll
,
Come
out
of
your
dark
hole
,
old
troll
,
Come
out
into
the
sunlight
with
us
and
Let
us
put
daisies
in
your
hair
.
.
.
