Book: Twelve

- And how much is a million? - reflects White Mike. - What we have are millions? People. Pigeons. Cents. Everyone knows that can do a coin in a penny dropped from the Empire state building. But if the rain of coins fell and millions of cents, these tiny bronze discs lightning rushed to the ground, reflecting the sun's rays. Bronze rain shattered the sidewalk, leaving craters on it, and all ran to escape. It would have crowded under any shelter and snuggled up to each other. If it started raining.

Before him, on the street, there are just two harmless kid trying to get some stuff, to have fun, something to fill the time, talk, dress, walk and live a certain way, because by themselves they are not steep, and it is not clear who they are and where to go. All, by and large, have nothing to do, everything in this town have nothing to do, so they do the same and talk the same quotes from the cartoons of my childhood (and like "Ghostbusters" much better "ninja Turtles"). Everyone wants to get laid, to be considered cool and to be in excellent shape, they just want and want and want.

Someone familiar, someone- no, but sometimes it's better not to see what for you have gone.

And here is the White Mike lives in his big, empty apartment, with his father, who almost did not see, and at night looks out the window and forces himself to be happy. He forces himself to take pleasure from reading or from TV shows, from cooking food or from washing, from how it spends the money or from cutting from a tree of tiny birds. He is now engaged at the kitchen table with the help of an expensive folding knife handmade, which he bought. All of this coercion.

If there is an event and does something else, and that something changes, right? And this change can sweep across the globe and walk right up here to the your bed.