He stares at me when he thinks I'm not looking. Nobody at the place talks to me any more, or kids around the way they used to.
It makes the job kind of lonely. Thinking about it makes me remember the time I fell asleep standing up and Frank kicked my legs out from under me.
The warm sweet smell, the white walls, the roar of the oven when Frank opens the door to shift the loaves.
Suddenly falling... twisting... everything out from under me and my head cracking against the wall.
It's me, and yet it's like someone else lying there—another Charlie.
He's confused... rubbing his head... staring up at Frank, tall and thin,
and then at Gimpy nearby, massive, hairy, gray-faced Gimpy with bushy eyebrows that almost hide his blue eyes.
"Leave the kid alone," says Gimp. "Jesus, Frank, why do you always gotta pick on him?"
"It don't mean nothing," laughs Frank. "It don't hurt him. He don't know any better. Do you, Charlie?"
Charlie rubs his head and cringes. He doesn't know what he's done to deserve this punishment, but there is always the chance that there will be more.
"But you know better," says Gimpy, clumping over on his orthopedic boot, "so what the hell you always picking on him for?"
The two men sit down at the long table, the tall Frank and the heavy Gimp shaping the dough for the rolls that have to be baked for the evening orders.
전체재생
다음페이지
문장검색