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SleepersMy sides hurt and my legs were starting to cramp. I was light-headed, my throat dry and my lungs heavy. I ran past Printing High School, the yard empty except for two rummies drinking coffee and smoking cigarettes, thinking of ways to score their first drink of the day. I dodged past a heavy-set woman tugging a shopping wagon piled with groceries and jumped two garbage can lids tossed to the side by a passing sanitation crew. Then, halfway up the block, the vendor still on my trail, I saw the hot dog cart being pushed toward Eighth Avenue by my friends. They were hunched low and moving easy, walking within the shadows of the arches of the old Madison 'Square Garden, as calm and steady as if they were out walking a dog. The vendor saw them too. 'Stop them!' he shouted, not breaking stride. 'Stop them! Stop the thieves!' In a neighborhood where silence in the face of crime is a virtue and blindness a necessity, no one moved. I ran as fast as burnt lungs and tired legs would permit and reached my three friends as they went past a poster announcing the much-heralded rematch between World Wrestling Federation champion Bruno Sammartino and challenger Gorilla Moonsoon. 'You're only supposed to take the hot dogs,' I said when I got to them, my hands holding a side of the cart. 'Not the wagon.' 'Now you tell us,' John said. 'Just leave it here,' I panted. 'You guys are lookin' to push somethin', push me ...» | Код для вставки книги в блог HTML
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