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- Джон Стейнбек
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The
yellow
afternoon
had
the
warm
breath
of
summer
.
A
few
early
season
people
,
those
without
children
to
hold
them
glued
until
school
was
out
,
were
moving
in
the
streets
,
strangers
.
Some
cars
came
through
,
towing
small
boats
and
big
outboard
motors
on
trailers
.
Ethan
would
have
known
with
his
eyes
closed
that
they
were
summer
people
by
what
they
bought
—
cold
cuts
and
process
cheese
,
crackers
and
tinned
sardines
.
Joey
Morphy
came
in
for
his
afternoon
refreshment
as
he
did
every
day
now
that
the
weather
was
warming
.
He
waved
the
bottle
toward
the
cold
counter
.
"
You
should
put
in
a
soda
fountain
,
"
he
said
.
"
And
grow
four
new
arms
,
or
split
into
two
clerks
like
a
pseudopod
?
You
forget
,
neighbor
Joey
,
I
don
’
t
own
the
store
.
"
"
You
should
.
"
"
Must
I
tell
you
my
sad
story
of
the
death
of
kings
?
"
"
I
know
your
story
.
You
didn
’
t
know
your
asparagus
from
a
hole
in
the
double
-
entry
bookkeeping
.
You
had
to
learn
the
hard
way
.
Now
wait
—
but
you
learned
.
"
"
Small
good
it
does
me
.
"
"
If
it
was
your
store
now
,
you
’
d
make
money
.
"
"
But
it
isn
’
t
.
"
"
If
you
opened
up
next
door
,
you
’
d
take
all
the
customers
with
you
.
"
