Chapter 24 Part Three (7)

"What kind of tricks are you playing next?" The group includes me, my narrator, and three buddies, namely Len, Rick and Blee.Black's name is derived from his thick neck and loud voice, like a big bull yelling when he is frightened.Everyone is sitting in the shop floor of the Korowa Milk Bar, talking about what the hell is going to be done tonight?It was a cold, gloomy winter's day, gloomy, and terribly loathsome; luckily it didn't rain.The milk bar is full of people, drinking enough milk mixed with psychedelic drugs such as Susheng, Synthetic Pills, and Manse; it can lead people to fly away, get rid of this evil real world, enter the illusion, and watch God appear in the left boot And his class of ambassadors, saints, with lightbulbs going off everywhere in his head.And what we drink, is the "milk frothing knife" we came up with the name for, it sharpens the mind and prepares the mind for a dirty twenty to one, but the story has been told to you passed.

We wore fashionable clothes, wide-leg trousers, baggy black shiny leather coats, lapel-collared shirts tucked into the collar, and it was fashionable to shave Gulliver with a long-handled razor, most of which were shaved bald, There is only some hair on the sides, but the feet are still old-fashioned, and the big boots are so refreshing that they can be shrunk when you kick your face. "What kind of tricks are you playing next?" I'm the oldest of the four, and they all have me as chief, but sometimes I think that one of the Gullivers of Black is planning to take my place, because he's big and loud and fights and shouts The sound is wah wah wah.But all the tricks are the scumbag's idea, man, one more thing, I'm well known, I've seen the papers, photos and articles and all, and I've got the best job out of the four, and I'm in the National Recording Archives now I work in the music department, and when I get paid on weekends, my beautiful pockets are full of flower tickets, plus a large number of free records for my own enjoyment.

That night, there were many men, women and children in the Korowa milk bar, laughing and drinking, drinking and drinking milk; you can hear the popular song played by the speaker, which is "That Day, Yes, That Day" sung by Ned Achimota, This interrupted the conversation and overshadowed the visionaries' chants of "Gorgo fell into a Bug-sprayed butcher ball" or something.There were three nachachi girls at the counter in normal clothes, their long hair was not combed, but it was dyed white, their fake breasts rose more than one meter high, and they wore very, very tight skirts lined with white seersucker; He stopped and said, "Hey, we can go in, the three of us. Len is not interested anyway, let him be alone with God." , where's my spirit for everyone, boy?" Suddenly, feeling both tired and energetic, I was eager to try, and I said:

"Get out, get out, get out." "Where to?" Rick asked, his face like a frog. "Hey, just go out and see what's going on outside the Great," I said.But, brethren, I'm very bored, a little hopeless, as I often feel these days.So I turned to a guy sitting next to him; the whole place was surrounded by these big plush seats, and the guy was pretty drunk and babbling, and I quickly slapped him in the stomach, but , brethren, he didn't feel it at all, just muttered, "Where the hell is the top tail popcorn, Che Che virtuous?" We took a walk down Magnita Avenue, where there were no cops patrolling.I saw an old man coming out of a kiosk buying a newspaper, and I said to Black, "Well, Blackie, do what you want." These days, I'm more and more focused on giving orders, and then stepping back to watch the execution.So Blee beat him uh uh uh, and the other two tripped him, kicked him, laughed and watched him fall, and he crawled back to his apartment, sobbing.Blee said:

"How about a good cup to keep out the cold, Alex?" We were not far from New York Duke's, and the other two nodded and said yes, but everyone looked at me to see if it was okay.I nodded too, and we passed.In the private room, there are those pout-mouthed old women, the old ladies who appear at the beginning of the novel, and they immediately start saying: "Good evening, boys, God bless you, the best children in the world, yes, ’ Waiting for us to say ‘what’s up next, girls? "Leaves on the table, brethren," said Blee, clinking his own money on the table. "Let's have Scotch, old lady trick, shall we?" I said:

"Go to hell, let them buy it themselves." I don't know why, I have become very stingy these days, and Gulliver has the desire to keep all the money for himself, and hoard it there to prevent something.Black asked: "What's the matter, brother? What's the matter with Alex?" "To hell with it," I said. "I don't know. I don't know. It's like, I don't like to waste my hard-earned money, that's all" "Earned?" Rick said. "Earned? Don't have to, you know that, buddy. Got it, that's all, got it, right." He laughed, and I saw he had a tooth or two that didn't matter.

"Ah," I said, "let me think about it." But seeing these old ladies waiting for their own food, I shrugged, and took out my own leaves from my trouser pocket, mixed with banknotes and coins, and threw them on on the table. "One scotch each," said the waiter.Somehow, I said: "No, boy, I just want a small glass of beer, yes." Len said: "I'm not one for that," he playfully put his hand over my Gulliver as if I was in over my head, but I growled like a dog and told him to stop quickly. "Okay, okay, buddy," he said. "Listen to you." But Bli opened his mouth wide, biting at the things I brought out of my trouser pocket when I took out the money.He said:

"Ho ho ho, we don't know." "Give me the thing," I growled and snatched it away.brothers.I can't explain how it got there, it was a newspaper clipping, a picture of a baby.The baby was giggling, with milk dripping from its mouth, and smiling at the crowd with its head up. It was bare-bottomed, chubby, with lumps next to each other.Everyone was hijacking my clippings and I had to yell at them over and over, grabbing the paper and tearing it to shreds and falling like snowflakes on the floor, and the whiskey was served, and the old ladies said, "Good health, lads Guys, God bless you, kids, the best kids in the world, yes," and so on.One of them said with a toothless mouth and wrinkled face, "My child, don't tear up the money. If you don't need it, you can give it to someone who needs it." It's really thick-skinned.Blee said:

"That's not a banknote, old lady. It's a picture of the little boy." I said: "I'm kinda tired, yeah. You're the babies, all of them. Laughing, teasing, and you're grinning and cowardly shoving people who won't fight back," said Blee: "Well, we always thought you were the head of it all, and the abettor. No, that's your trouble, buddy." I looked at the glass of light beer in front of me, and I really wanted to vomit in my stomach. I said "ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh)), and vomited the smelly foam all over the floor.An old lady said:

"Be diligent and thrifty, and have enough food and clothing." I said: "Hey buddy. Listen. I'm just not in the mood tonight. Don't know why, what's going on, but that's how it is. You three free yourself tonight, don't count me. Meet tomorrow at the same time at the same place , I hope it gets better." "Well," said Blee, "I'm really sorry." His eyes lit up, as you could tell, because tonight he could be at the helm, and power, power, everybody wanted power. "The plan in our hearts," said Bulli, "can be postponed until tomorrow. This plan is to break into the store on Gagarin Street. Do it well, buddy, and get a ticket."

"No," I said, "don't put off anything, you can do your own thing, well, I'm going." I got up from my chair. "Where are you going?" Rick asked. "Then I don't know," I said. "I just want to be alone and sort out my thoughts." The old ladies were very puzzled when they saw me going out like this; I looked preoccupied and not as happy as before, but I said: "Ah , hell, hell," and rushed to the street alone. It was very dark, the cold wind was blowing harder and harder, and there were very few pedestrians around.The patrol car drove around with vicious police cars, and from time to time, three or two young policemen could be seen stomping on street corners to keep warm, blowing steam in the cold wind, my brothers.I think most of the ultra-violence and burning and looting has disappeared now that the cops are doing their best to torture the captured people. , and even the fighting between the tiaozi with their guns drawn.And the problem that bothers me these days is that I don't care anymore.It was as if some kind of tenderness had invaded my body, but I didn't know why.At the time, I didn't know what I really wanted.Even the music that I like to hide in the closet and listen to belongs to the repertoire that used to be ridiculed. Brothers, I now prefer to listen to small romantic songs, the so-called "German lyric songs", which are sung by the piano. Sympathy; instead of all the big band as it used to be, the body lying on the bed between the violin, the trombone, the brass drums, there's a metamorphosis happening inside me, I don't know if it's a lesion, or if they were on me that time Where's the injected stuff messing with my Gulliver?Maybe it's driving me crazy. While thinking about this, I wandered around the city with my head down, my hands in my trouser pockets; brothers, I am finally tired, and I really want to drink a big cup of milk tea.Thinking of milk tea, I immediately imagined myself sitting in an armchair next to the big stove, drinking tea desperately. The interesting and strange thing is that I look very old, the old man has white beard and beard, and a beard It is new.I saw myself as an old man, sitting by the fire, and then the image faded away.Strange as hell. I came to a tea and coffee shop; and through the long windows, brethren, I saw that it was full of fools, ordinary people, with dead faces and resigned faces.They were harmless, and all sat and chatted peacefully, drinking harmless tea and coffee.I went in, went to the counter, bought myself a steaming cup of tea with a generous amount of milk, and sat down at a table to drink it.Sitting at the same table is a pair of young people, drinking and smoking filter carcinogens, Gu Zi talking and laughing in a low voice.I ignored them at all, continued to drink tea, and wondered vaguely what was going on inside me, what was going to happen to me.Suddenly, I found that the girl who accompanied this young man at the same table was very beautiful, not the kind of seductive female who wanted to put down and have sex, but with an elegant body, a beautiful face, a smile on her mouth, golden hair, Crap like that.As for the young man next to him, Gulliver put on his hat and didn't face me.He turned to look at the big clock on the wall, and then I saw who he was, and he saw who I was. He was Peter, that is to say, one of the three buddies at the time. At that time, the four people were George, Dim, him and me.Peter was much older, though he was only a little over nineteen.He has a moustache and wears a normal daytime outfit with this hat.I say: "Ho ho ho, buddy, what's the matter? Long time no see." He said: "Isn't it little Alex?" "Exactly," I said. "It's been a long, long, long time since those dead, good old days. It's said that poor George is gone, and old Dim's a nasty cop, and here's you and me. What's the news, old man?" "Isn't he funny?" said the girl, giggling. "Here," Peter told the girl, "is an old friend named Alex. Allow me to introduce my wife." My mouth was wide open, "Ma'am?" I was dumbfounded. "Mrs. Mrs. Mrs. Oh, no way. You're too young to get married, buddy? No way no way." The girl who called Mrs. Peter (impossible) laughed again and asked Peter: "Did you ever talk like that?" "Oh," Peter said with a smile. "I'm almost twenty. Why not get married at this age? It's been two months. You are very young and mature, remember." "Oh," I was tongue-tied. "I can't turn the corner, old man. Peter's married, ho ho ho." "We have a small apartment," Peter said. "I'm at the National Marine Insurance Company, on a small wage, but it's going to get better, I know that. This Georgina—" "What's the name?" I asked, still opening my mouth wildly.Peter's wife (ladies, brethren) laughed again. "Georgina," Peter said. "Georgina's got a job too. Typing, you know. We've made do, we've made do." Guys, I can't stop staring at him.He's grown up now, and his voice is old, "Chang it up," said Peter, "must come to play. You look young, though you've been weathered, yes, yes, we all read the papers , of course, you are still young now." "Eighteen," I said, "just had my birthday." "Eighteen?" said Peter. "Looks about the same. Ho ho ho. Oh, we gotta go." He gave his Georgina an affectionate look, took one of hers in both of his, and she glanced back, brethren. "Yeah," Peter turned to me again, "we're going to Greg's for a little party poof." "Greg?" I asked. "Oh, of course you don't know Greg," said Peter. "Greg lags behind you, he shows up after you're gone; he likes to have little parties. Mainly wine criss-crossing and crossword puzzles. But it's good, it's pleasant. Harmless, you know me mean?" "say to me. "Harmless. Yes, I think that's very refreshing." The girl Georgina smiled again after hearing what I said.Then they went to Greg's, whoever he was, to the crossword puzzle.I was left drinking milk tea alone, thinking hard, the tea was cold. Maybe that's it, I kept thinking.I may be too old for the life I used to be, brethren.I just turned eighteen.Eighteen is not small.Wolfgang Amadeus had already composed concertos, symphonies, operas, oratorios at the age of eighteen, no, not rubbish, but sounds of nature.Elder Mendelssohn also composed the prelude to "A Midsummer Night's Dream" early on.There are others.And this French poet, the one whose music was composed by Britten in England, Who wrote all his masterpieces at fifteen, my brethren.His name is Arthur.Therefore, eighteen is not that young.but what do i do? When I came out of this tea and coffee shop and walked the dark, cold, deadly streets, my eyes were full of visions, like cartoons in newspapers.Among them is the narrator, my lord—Alex, coming home from get off work, to enjoy some steaming delicious food, and this chick who greets him affectionately and asks how he is.But I can't see her, brothers, can't figure out who it is.I suddenly felt strongly that if I walked to the next room where the fire was warm and the food was served hot, I could find my true pursuit; at this moment, the newspaper clipping photos, and the chance encounter with old Peter, it was all entangled. Together, it is both true and illusory.And in the next room, my son was lying in the crib, babbling.That's right, brothers, it's my son.I felt such a big hole in my body that I was amazed even by myself.I know what's going on, brethren.I am growing up. That's right, that's right.Youth must die, yes.And youth is nothing but the interpretation of animal habits.No, it’s not so much about animal habits as it is about small toys sold at street stalls. It’s a doll made of tin, with a spring inside and a clockwork knob on the outside. When it’s tightened, the doll starts walking, brothers.But it walks in a straight line, and it bumps into things metaphorically as it walks. My son, my son.When I have a son, once he grows up and understands, I will tell him all this.But I know that he will not be sensible, or he is not willing to understand at all, and he is determined to repeat my mistakes until he kills the poor old woman who lives with the cats. I really can't stop it.As for him, he couldn't stop his son from committing crimes.And so on and on, until the end of the world.Round and round, like some giant, like God himself (courtesy of the Korowa milk bar), turning a dirty, stinky sweet orange in his gigantic hand. The first thing to do was to find some girl to be the son's mother.I'll have to start looking tomorrow, I kept thinking.That's a new task, and that's what I'm going to do, a new chapter. Brothers, this is the trick I'm going to play next, so my story has come to an end, and the reader has followed his buddy little Alex to run around, go through hardships, and at the same time see some of the most beautiful things God created. The nastiest bastards can't get along with old buddy Alex.Everything is because I am young and too young.But at the end of the story in this book, brethren, I am no longer young, never.Alex has grown up, yes. But the place I am going this time, brothers, is going alone, and I cannot take you with me.Tomorrow is full of fragrant flowers, it belongs to the rotating smelly earth, the stars, and the moon palace above, and your old buddy Alex is going to find a match by himself.Such nonsense, what a horrible dirty world, my brethren.Farewell to you guys.And to all the others in this book, a deep lip rap.They can kiss my ass.And you, brethren, think of Little Alex from time to time.Amen.and crap like that.