Читать онлайн «Killing Yourself to Live: 85% of a True Story»
Автор Чак Клостерман
DAY
THE TENTH DAY
THE ELEVENTH DAY
THE TWELFTH DAY
THE THIRTEENTH DAY
THE FOURTEENTH DAY
THE FIFTEENTH DAY
THE SIXTEENTH DAY
THE DAY BEFORE THE LAST DAY
THE LAST DAY
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
THE DAY BEFORE THE FIRST DAY
New York Dead Horses
Looking for Nothing
I am not qualified to live here.
I don’t know what qualifications are necessary to live in any certain place at any given time, but I know I don’t have them.
Ohio. I was qualified to live in Ohio. I like high school football. I enjoy Chinese buffet restaurants. I think the Pretenders’ first record is okay. Living in Ohio was not outside my wheel-house. But this place they call New York…this place that Lou Reed incessantly described to no one in particular…this place is more complicated. Everything is a grift, and everyone is a potential grifter. Before moving to Manhattan, I had only been here twice. Two days before I finally packed up my shit and left Akron, I had a phone conversation with the man who would be my immediate supsecurities. He tried to explain what my life here would be like; at the time, the only details I could remember about my two trips to New York were that (a) the bars didn’t close until 4 A. M. , and (b) there seemed to be an inordinate number of attractive women skulking about the street. “Don’t let that fool you,” my editor said as he (theoretically) stroked his Clapton-like beard. “I grew up in Minnesota, and I initially thought all the women in New York were beautiful, too. But here’s the thing—a lot of them are just cute girls from the Midwest who get expensive haircuts and spend too much time at the gym. ” This confused me, because that seems to be the definition of what a beautiful woman is. However, I have slowly come to understand my bearded editor’s pretzel logic: Sexuality is 15 percent real and 85 percent illusion.
The first time I was here, it was February. I kept seeing thin women waiting for taxicabs, and they were all wearing black turtlenecks, black mittens, black scarves, and black stocking caps…but no jackets. None of them wore jackets. It was 28 degrees. That attire (particularly within the context of such climatic conditions) can make any woman electrifying. Most of them were holding cigarettes, too. That always helps. I don’t care what C. Everett Koop thinks. Smoking is usually a good decision.
