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- Рэй Брэдбери
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Four
o
’
clock
in
the
afternoon
.
Flies
dead
on
the
pavement
.
Dogs
wet
mops
in
their
kennels
.
Shadows
herded
under
trees
.
Downtown
stores
shut
up
and
locked
.
The
lake
shore
empty
.
The
lake
full
of
thousands
of
people
up
to
their
necks
in
the
warm
but
soothing
water
.
Four
-
fifteen
.
Along
the
brick
streets
of
town
the
junk
wagon
moved
,
and
Mr
.
Jonas
singing
on
it
.
Tom
,
driven
out
of
the
house
by
the
scorched
look
on
Douglas
’
s
face
,
walked
slowly
down
to
the
curb
as
the
wagon
stopped
.
"
Hi
,
Mr
.
Jonas
.
"
"
Hello
,
Tom
.
"
Tom
and
Mr
.
Jonas
were
alone
on
the
street
with
all
that
beautiful
junk
in
the
wagon
to
look
at
and
neither
of
them
looking
at
it
.
Mr
.
Jonas
didn
’
t
say
anything
right
away
.
He
lit
his
pipe
and
puffed
it
,
nodding
his
head
as
if
he
knew
before
he
asked
,
that
something
was
wrong
.
"
Tom
?
"
he
said
.
"
It
’
s
my
brother
,
"
said
Tom
.
"
It
’
s
Doug
.
"
Mr
.
Jonas
looked
up
at
the
house
.
