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На четырнадцатой странице можно ощутить первые романтические подтексты, как теплые дуновения ветра из подземки. Байкера приняли за батю девочки, он сразу почувствовал ответственность и пошел покупать ей шлем. Негоже, грит, если ее мозги размажутся по асфальту.

Marilyn stuck right with us, kept trying to get close to Wavy. The way Wavy looked, all sweet and blond, people were probably all the time trying to paw her. A lot of times I’d almost go to touch her hair before I remembered not to. The way I figured it, she’d let me know when it was okay.

To keep Marilyn from touching her, I had to get down on my knee to adjust the shoe sizer against Wavy’s toe.

She smiled at me, her cheeks a little pink. I could see what she was thinking.

“I’m not a shoe salesman,” I said.

That made her smile bigger, almost showed her teeth.

“So she’s not your daughter?” Marilyn said.

“No, she’s not my daughter.” What was I supposed to say? She’s my bike bitch? Not everything has a simple answer. I said, “She’s a friend of mine.”
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Alexander

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