"Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Jim Steele," I said.
"Ya got a watch on ya?" she said. She didn't care what the hell my name was,
naturally. "Hey, how old are you, anyways?"
"Me? Twenty-two."
"Like fun you are."
It was a funny thing to say. It sounded like a real kid. You'd think a prostitute and
all would say "Like hell you are" or "Cut the crap" instead of "Like fun you are."
"How old are you?" I asked her.
"Old enough to know better," she said. She was really witty. "Ya got a watch on
ya?" she asked me again, and then she stood up and pulled her dress over her head.
I certainly felt peculiar when she did that. I mean she did it so sudden and all. I
know you're supposed to feel pretty sexy when somebody gets up and pulls their dress
over their head, but I didn't. Sexy was about the last thing I was feeling. I felt much more
depressed than sexy.
"Ya got a watch on ya, hey?"
"No. No, I don't," I said. Boy, was I feeling peculiar. "What's your name?" I asked
her. All she had on was this pink slip. It was really quite embarrassing. It really was.
"Sunny," she said. "Let's go, hey."
"Don't you feel like talking for a while?" I asked her. It was a childish thing to
say, but I was feeling so damn peculiar. "Are you in a very big hurry?"
She looked at me like I was a madman. "What the heck ya wanna talk about?" she
said.
"I don't know. Nothing special. I just thought perhaps you might care to chat for a
while."
She sat down in the chair next to the desk again. She didn't like it, though, you
could tell. She started jiggling her foot again--boy, she was a nervous girl.
"Would you care for a cigarette now?" I said. I forgot she didn't smoke.
"I don't smoke. Listen, if you're gonna talk, do it. I got things to do."
I couldn't think of anything to talk about, though. I thought of asking her how she
got to be a prostitute and all, but I was scared to ask her. She probably wouldn't've told
me anyway.


блинблин, круто.