Читать книгу 150 Stories - Nataniël - Страница 40

On Tuesday nights at quarter to seven Mr Fazakas rubs himself against the mailbox. It’s a thick pole with a huge golf ball on top and out of the golf ball comes another pole and on top of that is a piece of cardboard with birdseeds.

Mr Fazakas holds on to the pole at the top and crosses his legs round the bottom one. Then he throws his head back and wiggles against the golf ball. Sometimes he makes noises and calls the golf ball Vanessa.

Mr Fazakas is Greek and very attractive. The ones that were born overseas get ugly at about thirty, but the local ones stay nice till fifty. But Mr Fazakas doesn’t know he’s still nice, so he’s with the mailbox.

At nine minutes to seven Stephnie Landman, Douwlina and thick Elsbet walk past.

Pervert, says Stephnie Landman.

Ja, says Douwlina, His inner self is suppressed. It’s people like that who end up at the Gilbert and Sullivan society.

Then they reach the corner and thick Elsbet says, I wanna be a golf ball. And then they turn left.

I don’t walk past. I stay at the fence till he reaches climax. He does it with a rattling movement, then the birdseeds fall on his head and when he’s finished he just hangs there like an attractive baboon with dandruff.

Then I run, because it’s four minutes to seven. That’s why I never sing the scales at choir practice, because I’m out of breath. Me and Mr Fazakas. But he has the fun, I just watch.