Читать книгу Fresh Pack of Smokes - Cass Blanchard - Страница 12

She smiled a smile that was all gums, apparently she had the shit kicked out of her and all her upper teeth were shattered and she had to get them all taken out—she was so young it was strange that her mouth looked like an old woman’s and even though I forget her name I’ll never forget her gums, we were in Carl Rooms which was a level better than all those bed bug–infested piece of shit hotels; Tecia told me how the janitors in Carl Rooms would sometimes open the tenants’ rooms, those fuckers were like cockroaches roaming around in the hallways, or the two French goofballs who would use the ladies’ washroom and clog it with shit and piss making the chick who cleaned them gag from the stink of it, you have the pregnant dealer who smoked rock and drank Fireball Cinnamon Whisky or the chick who very carefully injected heroin into her neck and spent the next half hour nodding on the floor; I hear stories sometimes told to me, like a son who shoots his uncle in the head and predators hurting daughters in order to get back at the mothers and twenty-two-year-olds who look like they’re sixty and especially unfriendly eyes that watch from the shadows.