Chapter 6 Part 1 (3)

We headed for the city, my brethren, but just outside the city, not far from what people call the Industrial Canal, we saw the fuel tank pointer collapsed, like the hahaha pointer on our lower body, the car was rattling protest.But don't worry, because the train station is approaching, and the blue lights on the platform are flashing, one bright and one dim, one dim and one bright.The question is, either ditch the car and let the police pull it away, or let our murder-hate mentality get the better of us and shove it beautifully into the river for a nice splash before the night dies.We agreed on a second plan; we got out of the car, let off the brakes, and the four of us pushed the car over to the river, which was filthy like molasses mixed with human shit, and gave it a hard push and the car went down.We had to run fast so the filth and water wouldn't splash on the platties; the car sank thump-thump-thump, it was a pretty sight. "Farewell, old buddy," shouted George, and Dim responded with a clown's smirk—"Ha ha ha ha."Then we went straight to the train station and took one stop to the city center, which is the name for the center of the city.We bought tickets neatly, and waited quietly on the platform like a gentleman. Dim was fiddling with the vending machine. He had a lot of small shops in his pocket, ready to distribute them to the poor and those who had no food when necessary Chocolate bars, unfortunately there are no such people around; the steam express rumbles in and we board, it's empty.To while away the three minute trip, we fiddled with what people call chair cushions and scraped the seat stuffing out well, and Dim beat the windows with chains until the glass cracked and flickered cold, and everyone was tired and irritable, all night long It took a little energy.Only Dim, one of those clown beasts, can have fun with it, but he's filthy and stinks of sweat, and that's what I don't like about Dim.

We got off at the city center station and walked slowly back to the Korowa milk bar, all a little wobbly, showing the contents of our backs to the moon, stars, and lights, because we are still in the growth period and have to go to school during the day .When we entered the shop, we found it was even more crowded than when we left just now. The guy who muttered, who lived on white powder, synthetic pills, and so on, was still muttering, "Naughty boy throwing hello ho ho slipping out of the Platonic time weather embrace." ".Perhaps this was the third or fourth drink he drank that night, for he was pale and unhuman, as if he had become an inanimate object, his face as if it had been carved out of plaster.In fact, if he drank so much and planned to enter the hallucination for so long, he should have gone to the box at the back instead of staying in the shop to be ashamed.Someone here will tease him for a while, of course it won't be too much, because there are powerful scarred servants in the milk bar, which can stop any riots, anyway, Dim has squeezed next to this guy, shouting like a clown, showing his head upside down Grape, stepped on his feet with a big dirty shoe, but the guy didn't hear it at all. It seems that the soul of this person has completely surpassed the body.

Most of the customers were Nachages (we used to call teenagers Nachages) drinking milk and coke and having fun, but there were a few older ones, both sexes, joking and laughing at the bar, no middle class, they were Never come to this kind of place.Judging from their haircuts and baggy blazers (mostly oversized, pilled sweaters), they had just rehearsed at the TV studio across the street.The girls' faces are full of vigor, their big red mouths are grinning like no one else, and they don't care that the world around them is full of evil.At this point the record cuts off (it's Johnny Zhivago the Russian Cat singing "Only Every Other Day"), and in the brief silence between songs, a girl—nearly forty, very pretty, with a big red mouth Smiling——suddenly let go of singing, and only sang a bar or two, as if to remind them of what they were talking about just now.At that moment, brothers, it was like some big bird flew into the milk bar, the hairs on my whole body stood on end, and I shivered like a little lizard slowly crawling up and down.Because I know what she sings, it's the opera "Bedding" by Frederick Gertfest, it's the part where she's dying with her throat slit, and it's "Perhaps it's better like this."Anyway, I shivered.

As soon as Dim heard the song and slapped his dinner plate like hot meat, he let out his dirty tricks, first a whistle, then a dog howl, then a two-finger jab, and finally a clown-like maniacal laugh.I heard and saw Dim Sao wild and I felt feverish and my blood boiled and I yelled, "Bastard. Dirty, unruly bastard." I went around George who was in the middle and punched the bastard quickly. Dim opened his mouth, startled, opened his mouth wide, wiped the blood on his lips with his hand, looked at the blood flowing out in amazement, and me in turn. "What did you hit me for?" He asked awkwardly, few people around saw me strike, and even if they did, they didn't care.The stereo was on again, playing a disgusting electric guitar tune.I replied:

"An impolite thing, who doesn't know the rules of public places, brother." Dim put on a rustic and evil expression and said, "Then I don't like your beating just now. I am no longer your brother, and I don't want to be a brother." He took out a snot-smeared big Handkerchief, dabbing at the blood in bewilderment, looking at it with a frown, as if thinking that the bleeding was someone else's business, not his.It's like a girl singing, and Dim compensates for his dirty movements by singing blood.But the girl was laughing at the bar with her buddies now, her red mouth turned and her teeth gleamed, and she didn't notice Ding Musaye.It was actually me that Dim practiced.I say:

"If you don't like this, if you don't want that, you know what to do, little brother," said George, so sharply that I looked sideways: "Okay, let's not start." "That's all up to Dim," I said. "Dim can't be a kid all his life." I stared at George.Dim says the bleeding has slowed down: "What natural right does he have to think that he can hit me wherever he wants? Fuck his egg bag, the chain can take his eyes out in a blink of an eye." "Look," I said, trying to keep my voice as low as possible; we were in the middle of a din of speakers blaring the walls and ceiling, and the hallucinations behind Dim chanting "Close-up flash, super-excellent," louder and louder. "Look, Dim, if you want to live."

"Eggbag," said Dim with a sneer, "fuck you big eggbag. What right do you have to hit people! I can kill you with chains, knives, razors at any time, if you don't eat you hit me for no reason, Of course I don't follow your example." "Is the knife right? Good! You can set a time," I replied sharply.Peter said: "Okay, come on, you two. Aren't we buddies? It's not right for buddies to do this. Look, there's some tongue-twister over there laughing at us, maybe with some ulterior motive. We can't make it up to ourselves." .” I said, "Dim gotta know where he's standing. Right?"

"Wait," said George, "what does status mean? This is the first time I've ever heard of people needing to understand status." Peter said: "If the facts are right, Alex, you shouldn't have hit Dim for no reason. I'll just say it once. Listen to me, if I eat your fist, you'll have to make it up. I won't talk." He buried his face in the milk cup. I was upset, but trying to hide it, I said calmly, "Someone has to lead. Discipline is a must. Right?" They didn't speak, and they didn't even nod.More disturbed inside and calmer on the outside, I said, "I've been taking the lead for a long time. We're all buddies, but someone has to take the lead. Right? Right?" They all nodded, cautiously, and Dim was putting The last bit of blood was wiped away.Now it was Tim who spoke:

"Yeah, yeah. Doobye. Maybe a little tired, everybody. Better not." I was startled, a little frightened to hear Dim speak so wisely, and Dim said, "Sleep is the best thing to do now." , we'd better go home. Right?" I was very surprised, and the other two nodded and said, yes yes.I say: "You've got to understand that punch in the mouth, Dim. It's the music, you know. It's like I got pissed off when somebody interrupted the chick's singing. That's all." "Best we go home and get some sleep," said Dim, "enough nights for a grown kid. Right?" Yes, the other two nodded.I say:

"Better go home, I suppose. Dim's got a great idea. If we don't run into each other during the day, mates, well—tomorrow old time old place?" "Okay," George said. "I think it can be arranged that way." Dim said, "I may be a little late, of course tomorrow is the same place, almost the same time." He was still wiping his lips desperately, but the blood was gone now. "Also, I hope there won't be any more ladies singing here." And then he smirks Dim-like, clown-like, hahaha—haha, as if he's too stupid to hurt much. We split up and I had an iced coke and was hiccupping.I checked my stash of razors in case someone from Billyboy's gang was waiting around the apartment building, or whatever gang, gang, battle team, where the occasional scuffle occurred, descended from the sky.My parents and I live in Building 18A of the municipal apartment, between Kingsley Avenue and Wilson Road, I have no trouble to get to the gate, just pass a little guy on the way, crawling in the gutter, howling and moaning , who had been cut with a knife, and still saw a puddle of blood and a puddle of blood under the street lamp. Brothers, it looks like the signature left after playing around that night.Right next to Building 18A, I saw a pair of girl's underwear, which was undoubtedly torn off in a fierce scene.go in.On the wall of the corridor, there are noble public welfare paintings - young men and women with healthy bodies, serious expressions, and well-developed bodies are naked, working beside the workbench and machines, reflecting the dignity of labor. Of course, some of the buildings in this building Good deeds young people will inevitably use the pencils and ballpoint pens they carry with them to retouch and process the large paintings, add hair and dicks, and let the stylish mouths of naked men and women release balloon outlines, filled with obscene words and clichés.I walked up to the elevator and didn't even need to press a button to determine if it was running, because the elevator was obviously kicked in a decent way tonight, and the metal door was deflated. Up ten flights of stairs.I was swearing all the way, out of breath, even if I was not so tired, I was always exhausted, tonight I was very eager to listen to music, maybe the singing of the girl in the milk bar enlightened me, brothers, put your passport on the border of dreamland I'll have a feast of music before the bars are raised to receive me, seal my seal.

I used a small key to open the door of No. 118. There was silence in our small home, and both P and M were deep in sleep.Mother left a little supper on the table—a few slices of sponge pudding in a tin, a slice or two of bread and butter, a glass of cold milk.Hohoho, Leng Nai has not been mixed with psychedelic drugs such as Dao, Synthetic Nine, and Manse.Brethren, innocent milk will always be evil to me now, but I muttered and ate and drank, hungrier than I expected at first, and took a fruit pie from the shelf, and A few large pieces were stuffed into my gluttonous mouth, then I cleaned my teeth, clicked my tongue to clean my mouth, and then went into my small room, undressed and undressed.Here is my bed and stereo, which is the pride of life, records are placed in the cabinet, and various flags are pasted on the wall. They are all commemorations of my career in correctional schools since I was eleven years old. They are shiny and printed with my name Or numbers: "South Fourth", "City Cosco Blue Banner Office", "Excellent Boy". The small speakers of the stereo are all over the room, on the ceiling and on the wall.It's all on the floor, so listening to music in bed is like being on the dots of a band's web.My first favorite tonight is this new violin concerto by the American Geoffrey Proutus, performed by Odysseus Chorilos, accompanied by the Macon Philharmonic Orchestra of Georgia.I removed it from its neat record rack, flipped it on and waited. Brothers, here comes, ah, pleasure, bliss, heaven.I was lying naked, without a quilt, and Gulliver leaned on the pillow with his hands on his head, his eyes were slightly closed, and his mouth was opened happily, listening to the flow of voiceless and elegant music.Ah, it's clearly the physical body of the Meilunmeiyi elf.Under the bed, a trombone blew crisply like red gold, behind his head a trumpet spit out three-voiced silver flames, and beside the door was the rumble of a drum rumbling through the internal organs, and then ran out again, crisp like a sugar thunderbolt.Ah, what a miracle of miracles.At this moment, the violin solo sounds like a bird of paradise woven with rare metal wires, or the silver-white wine flowing in a spaceship. My bed, then flutes and oboes burrowed like platinum worms into the thick gold and silver toffee.Brothers, I feel as if I am hearing the sounds of nature, and I am in the air. P and M in the next bedroom have been enlightened, and they will not knock on the wall to protest that the "noise" is deafening. I enlightened them.They will take sleeping pills.They know that I am not tired of Yele, maybe I have already taken medicine.Listen, listen, my eyes shut tightly to lock in the pleasure that surpasses the synthetic pill God, that lovely image is familiar to me: men and women, young and old, lying on the ground, screaming and begging for mercy, while I Laughing and stomping on their faces with boots.And the stripped girl, screaming and standing against the wall, my cock pounding hard.There is only one movement in the music, and when it reached the top of the tallest tower, I, with my eyes closed and Gulliver lying on my hands, burst into jets, and at the same time shouted "Ah—" , the beautiful music just slides to a glorious rest. Afterwards I listened to the wonderful Mozart "Jupiter Symphony" with new images of different faces being trampled and sprayed, and I thought, just listen to the last record before crossing the dream, I want to listen to classical, Something strong and very firm, so I chose Bach's "Brandenburg Concerto", with only the middle and low strings.Listening, I had a different pleasure than before, and saw the title of the book again on the torn paper that night. It happened in a hut called "Home", and the time seemed very far away. The title of the book It's about a clockwork orange.Listening to Bach, I began to understand the meaning more deeply; and my heart was filled with the ultimate brown beauty brought by the German music master.It occurred to me that I would have pushed and rubbed that couple even harder, right on the floor of their house, tearing them apart.