-
Главная
-
- Книги
-
- Авторы
-
- Чарльз Буковски
-
- Женщины
-
- Стр. 30/501
Для того чтобы воспользоваться озвучкой предложений, необходимо
Войти или зарегистрироваться
Озвучка предложений доступна при наличии PRO-доступа
Купить PRO-доступ
The
roadways
were
frozen
over
with
ice
.
"
Not
everybody
can
drive
on
this
fucking
kind
of
ice
,
"
said
Frenchy
.
"
You
got
to
know
what
you
’
re
doing
.
"
I
opened
the
portfolio
and
began
reading
Frenchy
a
love
poem
Lydia
had
handed
me
at
the
airport
:
"
.
.
.
your
purple
cock
curved
like
a
.
.
.
"
.
.
.
when
I
squeeze
your
pimples
,
bullets
of
puss
like
sperm
.
.
.
"
"
Oh
SHIT
!
"
hollered
Frenchy
.
The
car
went
into
a
spin
.
Frenchy
worked
at
the
steering
wheel
.
"
Frenchy
,
"
I
said
,
lifting
the
tequila
bottle
and
taking
a
hit
,
"
we
’
re
not
going
to
make
it
.
"
We
spun
off
the
road
and
into
a
three
foot
ditch
which
divided
the
highway
.
I
handed
him
the
bottle
.
We
got
out
of
the
car
and
climbed
out
of
the
ditch
.
We
thumbed
passing
cars
,
sharing
what
was
left
of
the
bottle
.
Finally
a
car
stopped
.
A
man
in
his
mid
-
twenties
,
drunk
,
was
at
the
wheel
.
"
Where
you
fellows
going
?
"
"
A
poetry
reading
,
"
said
Frenchy
.
