Widmopis

— Как будем раскладывать сэндвичи, Мо?
— Ветчина и сыр, ветчина и помидор, сыр и помидор…
— А ещё ветчина, сыр и помидор.
— Откуда ты знаешь?
— Ты всегда раскладываешь бутерброды всеми возможными способами.
— Разве?
— Поэтому я и женился на тебе.

When I was a young man, and the Russkies were going to blow us all to Kingdom Come, we were told we’d have a four-minute warning. I’m talking Ford, Carter, Reagan Days. Four minutes, I used to wonder... What would I do in four minutes? Boil an egg, have sex, telephone my enemies to have the final word, listen to Jim Morrison, hotwire a car and drive three blocks?

Tell people that reality is exactly what it appears to be, they’ll nail you to a lump of wood. But tell ’em they can go spirit-walking while they commute, tell ’em their best friend is a lump of crystal, tell ’em the government has been negotiating with little green men for the last fifty years, then every Joe Six-Pack from Brooklyn to Peoria sits up and listens. Disbelieving the reality under your feet gives you a licence to print your own.

Laws may help you hack through the jungle, but no law changes the fact you’re in a jungle.

The most malicious god is the god of the counted chicken.

What is it that ties shapes of land to the human heart, Mo?

‘Poker? At poker, you get what you deserve.’
‘Ah. I don’t think I want what I deserve.’

Integrity is a bugger, it really is. Lying can get you into difficulties, but to really wind up in the crappers try telling nothing but the truth.

People stare at the floor. Even to look at a homeless person is to sign a contract with them. I dabbled with joining the Samaritans once. The supervisor had been homeless for three years. I remember him saying that the worst thing was the invisibility. That and not being able to go anywhere where nobody else could go.

I pass through many Mes in the course of the day, each one selfish with his time. The Lying in Bed Me, and the Enjoying the Hot Shower Me are particularly selfish. The Late Me loathes the pair of them.