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- Авторы
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- Марк Мэнсон
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- Тонкое искусство пофигизма
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- Стр. 25/115
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“
Mark
,
can
you
take
me
to
your
locker
,
please
?
”
“
Sure
,
”
I
say
,
and
slug
myself
down
the
hall
,
baggy
jeans
and
moppy
hair
and
oversized
Pantera
T
-
shirt
and
all
.
We
get
to
my
locker
.
“
Open
it
,
please
,
”
Mr
.
Price
says
;
so
I
do
.
He
steps
in
front
of
me
and
gathers
my
coat
,
my
gym
bag
,
my
backpack
—
all
of
the
locker
’
s
contents
,
minus
a
few
notebooks
and
pencils
.
He
starts
walking
away
.
“
Come
with
me
,
please
,
”
he
says
,
without
looking
back
.
I
start
to
get
an
uneasy
feeling
.
I
follow
him
to
his
office
,
where
he
asks
me
to
sit
down
.
He
closes
the
door
and
locks
it
.
He
goes
over
to
the
window
and
adjusts
the
blinds
to
block
the
view
from
outside
.
My
palms
begin
to
sweat
.
This
is
not
a
normal
principal
visit
.
Mr
.
Price
sits
down
and
quietly
rummages
through
my
things
,
checking
pockets
,
unzipping
zippers
,
shaking
out
my
gym
clothes
and
placing
them
on
the
floor
.
Without
looking
up
at
me
,
Mr
.
Price
asks
,
“
Do
you
know
what
I
’
m
looking
for
,
Mark
?
”
“
No
,
”
I
say
.
“
Drugs
.
”
The
word
shocks
me
into
nervous
attention
.
“
D
-
d
-
drugs
?
”
I
stammer
.
“
What
kind
?
”
