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Название книги: Cruel and Unusual
Автор(ы): Patricia Cornwell
Жанр: Научная Фантастика
Адрес книги: http://www.6lib.ru/books/Cruel-and-Unusual-170984.html
A Kay Scarpetta Mystery
This book is for the inimitable Dr. Marcella Fierro.(You taught Scarpetta well.)
Prologue
(A Meditation At Spring Street By The Damned)It is two weeks before Christmas. Four days before nothing at all. I lie on my bed staring at my dirty bare feet and the white toilet missing its seat, and when cockroaches crawl across the floor I don't jump anymore. I watch them the same way they watch me.I close my eyes and breathe slow.I remember raking hay in the heat of day and getting no pay compared to the way white folk live. I dream of roasting peanuts in a tin and when the tomatoes are in eating them like apples. I imagine driving the pickup truck, sweat shining on my face in that no-future place I swore I'd leave.I can't use the john, blow my nose, or smoke without guards taking notes. There's no clock. I never know the weather. I open my eyes and see a blank wall going on forever. What's a man supposed to feel when he's about to be gone? Like a sad, sad song. I don't know
Название книги: Cruel and Unusual
Автор(ы): Patricia Cornwell
Жанр: Научная Фантастика
Адрес книги: http://www.6lib.ru/books/Cruel-and-Unusual-170984.html
A Kay Scarpetta Mystery
This book is for the inimitable Dr. Marcella Fierro.(You taught Scarpetta well.)
Prologue
(A Meditation At Spring Street By The Damned)It is two weeks before Christmas. Four days before nothing at all. I lie on my bed staring at my dirty bare feet and the white toilet missing its seat, and when cockroaches crawl across the floor I don't jump anymore. I watch them the same way they watch me.I close my eyes and breathe slow.I remember raking hay in the heat of day and getting no pay compared to the way white folk live. I dream of roasting peanuts in a tin and when the tomatoes are in eating them like apples. I imagine driving the pickup truck, sweat shining on my face in that no-future place I swore I'd leave.I can't use the john, blow my nose, or smoke without guards taking notes. There's no clock. I never know the weather. I open my eyes and see a blank wall going on forever. What's a man supposed to feel when he's about to be gone? Like a sad, sad song. I don't know
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