I heard myself say, "Yes, I need a book."
She pushed her work aside, took a new one, kept her head down, reminded you, and then said, "Who do you want to write it to?"
Although I am scared at this moment, things can't be better. I licked my lips and said, "Thomas Prescott."
It was as if she was tied to a train track, and every syllable of my name constituted the sound of a train galloping towards her. The last "t", the rear train, screamed to a halt a few inches away from her weak body. She dropped the pen and looked up.
When God created her eyes, he obviously used the dyes Yellow No. 5 and Blue No. 1, because their colors are the same as lime popsicles. After a while, she smiled, exposed the braces and white braces she was wearing, and said, "Where is your machete?"
Machete? Oh, right. I wrote something in the letter about cutting his head with a machete, and now I am cutting her head again. This was a way to relieve stress at the time, and even fun, but now it seems a bit too much. "I forgot in the car."
She smiled, her face wrinkled in all suitable places. I use this time to make sure that I have come to hell for this person, not fall in love with them. I remembered her shortcomings again in my mind. Weasel reporter? no problem. arrogant? no problem. Money dealer? no problem. Is the hanger good? no problem. Beautiful ass? Look back again.
She said, "I knew you would come today. In fact, that's the whole reason for this signing event. That's the bait. Thomas Prescott's bait." She tilted her head to the side and asked:" Mind if I ask why you bite?"
I told her the truth, "I want to make sure you are ugly."
She laughed again, and I think my knees are almost melting into my shins. "Then you must be disappointed."
We are not the humble type, are we? I carefully drafted my reply, especially emphasizing not to say too much. "I like it very much." Damn.
She took a copy of "Eight" in October. Not the one in front of her, but the one she had been writing when I first approached her. I found myself saying, "Alexander, isn't it?"
She handed me the book. "Call me Alex"
I returned safely to the Range Rover and opened my fourth book "Eight" in October. There is a map on the cover inside, and Alex scribbled below:
At 8:0 tonight, bring wine.
Ah oh.
After three o'clock, I drove into the driveway. I haven't eaten anything all day, and I really want to eat a breakfast burrito. They say that you crave food for a reason: eat red meat when you are lack of iron, drink cow nǎi when you are lack of calcium, and eat eggs when you are lack of protein. I have another desire, but it is not as easy to get remedy as walking a few blocks. It was in Philadelphia, or even Seattle, not there.
On the way to Little Benny’s big burrito stall, called Little Benny’s for short, the only thing I thought about was Alex’s dinner invitation. If I go, I will have another chance to scold her for writing this book. If I stay at home, I'm just waiting for something to happen, and sadly, it starts to look like a three-legged horse in the eighth game with the jockey of Lake Ritchie.
When I first started my burrito pilgrimage, I had 90% support not to go to Alex's house for dinner. Now I only have 70% left. My goal is to find a way to achieve a 50-50 split, and then to participate in the "ancient coin toss" I want to know how many major decisions are made by the ancient coin toss? I'm sure there were a few wars because some idiots called them heads. On the other hand, we signed the treaty. Face up, we use nuclear weapons.
People don’t know that you always say the opposite. Always.
When I finished the round trip, after 0 minutes, I found Lacey was bathing Baxter in the kitchen. She heard me push open the glass door and said, "What will happen to autograph books? Have you sent them to hell?"
I put little Benny’s bag on the kitchen table and said, "You mean, did I send her to hell."
Lacey didn't scrub the pug anymore. It seemed to enjoy the bathing process. "Alex Tums is a woman? Impossible. I wish I could see the expression on your face. Oh, I am willing to give everything."
I took out a burrito from the bag, sat at the small oak dining table, and said, "I'm still in shock."
Lacey sneered. "Little Barney?"
"Yours is here"
Little Benny’s is more important than Baxter’s, and Lacey sits at the table with me. She took a big bite, sighed, and said, "Great, drama in the bookstore. Go ahead, brother."
I told her the story and she listened intently. When I recalled Alex's dinner invitation later that night, Lacey began to choke. I had to run to pour her a glass of water. She finished her cup, coughed for a while, and then said, "You have to go."
This is what I want to hear. Lacey's vote officially reached half to half. Lacey went back to the kitchen sink - Baxter was in the dead pug's float - I asked her if she had a dime. She yelled over her shoulders: "If every time someone asks me for a dime, I have a dime, then I have it."
I guess the answer is no, because no coin was thrown at me. I walked to a wooden shelf between the kitchen and the living room. Sitting on the windowsill was an ivory ceramic vase. Around 195, the things left by the Fatt couple became a refuge for Lacey and me.
I am not overly superstitious, but I do have some quirks and quacks, which may fall into this category. Two minutes later, I finally found a coin from the year I was born by accident.
I flipped a coin and revealed the opposite. see it
Lacey asked: "What's the result?"
I laughed at my stupidity and said, "I'm not sure. I didn't give a positive or negative evaluation of either of these results."
I start the coin and assign one result to the heads and one to the tails. Lacey interrupted my thoughts, "Wait. You can't distribute the results yourself. You need an impartial third party to distribute the results. For example, just like me."
"why?"
"Because you are an idiot, you always pick your tail. So you have to distribute the results you want to the people below, even if it is subconscious." She turned around, smiled and said, "Is the tail walking? Yes, isn't it?"
Oh. Oh~~~
I divided the money for dinner at Alex's house to the opposite side. This is not a good sign. "Well, you tell me what is what."
She thought for a while and said, "Throw a coin and decide."
I'm confused. This started to become a general trend, "What?"
"Give me a dime." I handed her a dime, and she said: "If it's heads, then going to Alex's for dinner is heads. If it's negative, then going to Alex's for dinner is the reverse."
It's like Abbott and Costello met Benny and Joan. "Why not go to Alex's house for dinner?"
"It's nothing to go to Alex's for dinner"
I think tossing a coin to make a decision is to simplify the decision, not to complicate it. "whatever."
She tossed a coin, then tapped the top of the coin with her right index finger. "Human head. So going to Alex’s for dinner is positive. In fact, if you want to be completely unbiased, you can toss a coin and see which result you will toss a coin, and see what is thrown at the end. What are the front and back."
I felt a little headache, so I snatched the coin from Lacey. "Then I'll be straightforward, going to Alex's house for dinner is positive, not going to Alex's house for dinner is negative."
"right."
I tossed a coin. For the first time in my life, I found myself praying for human heads.
The opposite. Two wins in three games. The opposite. Three wins in five innings. The opposite. Four wins in seven games. The opposite. I tell you, it's always the opposite. To be honest, I started to get nervous and I don't remember when I wore a tuxedo in a row. I kept flipping and things started to balance. After about ten minutes, the head finally slowly revealed its tail in the best of the 65 divisions.
After stopping at a liquor store, I turned on the navigation system and stupidly chose the voice command option. The woman's voice came and asked me where I was going. The woman's vicious voice sounded familiar, but I still couldn't make out that voice. The woman repeated the order without making a mistake; Hillary Rodham Clinton yelled at me on the dashboard.
I opened eight maps where they should be in October, but they either disappeared or I took the wrong book. I can think of this as a sign, I am not destined to go to Alex, but it will be superstition, I am not superstitious. Also, my lucky socks will offset it, if this is a sign.
I called Lacey, but fortunately Connor was at home. Obviously, the two of them are going to watch a movie. Strangely, Lacey still likes to listen to this movie. Connor found my signed "Eight" in October, and I passed the address to Hillary. Within a few seconds, I saw a blue dot flashing along I-95, towards the red star 5 miles away.
I took out a CD from the glove box and put it in quietly. When I clumsily followed the Magic Red Band, I noticed a high-profile backing singer. In fact, it was Hillary Clinton who accused me of merging onto the westbound highway. I turned down the music and followed Hillary's instructions until I came to Madison East.
Alex's house is on the Ampwood Terrace. According to my experience, there is only one house on the balcony, and it is usually the largest house in this block. I drove par five for a long time, then turned left and drove par three for a short period of time. Then the end of the street suddenly appeared in front of a huge wrought iron gate: 1 Ampwood Street . (To be continued) (End of this chapter)