Егор Безрылов (koznodej) wrote,
Егор Безрылов

Антология одной песни

Cars and trucks belched blue, gunning at the lights. A paste-white lady with sulfur curls, wearing bullfighter pants and a leopard top, slouched in a doorway and gave me a kissy-looking smile. Spillane had shut her in the stomach a generation ago, and she was still working the streets... Even the wind-sped half sheet of newsprint that wrapped around my ankle had some magick meaning, just beyond the edge of comprehension... I wadded it to walnut size and threw some fifteen fit at a trash container. The swing lift of the trash container was open an inch and a half. If it went in, I would live forever. It didn't even touched the edges as it disappeared inside. I wished it was all the sound stage, that the orchestra was out of sight. I wished I was Gene Kelly. I wished I could dance.

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    С чего начинаются диспуты об этом известно давно москвич начинается при смерти в хорошем советском кино ныряют красавицы с пристани на кладбище обе…

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    В места какие никогда не сделаешь второй увозят запах господа отчизны первой той откуда тянет холодком мороженой плотвы и мысленно зовя жучком…

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    Берег крыма - большое биде геморроидов третьего рима осторожней отец быть беде не всплывает ныряющий мимо.

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