воскресенье, 17 февраля 2013
рассказ джонатана сафрана фоера, замечательный -
"here we aren't, so quickly"I was not neurotic, just apocalyptic. You were always copying keys and looking up words. I was not afraid of quiet; I just hated it. So my hand was always in my pocket, around a phone I never answered. You were not cheap or handy with tools, just hurt by my distance. I was never indifferent to the children of strangers, just frustrated by my own unrelenting optimism. You were not unsurprised when, that last night in Norfolk, I drove you to Tobey Pond, led you by the hand down the slope of the brambles and across the rotting planks to the constellations in the water. Sharing our happiness diminished your happiness. I was not going to dance at our wedding, and you were not going to speak. No part of me was nervous that morning.
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17.02.2013 в 23:10-
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17.02.2013 в 23:19а что за матерьяльчик?
и как тебе сам рассказ?
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17.02.2013 в 23:27рассказ очень очень понравился, хотя есть ощущение, что увлекся формой и "недокрутил", как любила говорить моя преподавательница литературы
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17.02.2013 в 23:38спасибо за ссылочку!