See You Tomorrow Read Online Free Page B

again…’
    ‘Eh?’ says Rudi and acts as if he didn’t hear what she said.
    ‘Nothing.’
    He glances in the mirror. The tears have dried. She sticks the small, pink tip of her tongue out between her thin lips and moistens them.
    ‘Exactly,’ he says, fired up at the sight of her, and takes a deep breath: ‘Nothing and
kein Problem, Mädchen.
Now we’re going to go to work, and there’s no telling what we might run into in this forest, but Pål is this guy’s name and he’s got
ein problem
.’ Rudi frowns suddenly, as if he’s just thought of something. ‘Pål, you don’t know anyone called Pål, do you?’
    ‘Pål, eh, no, don’t think so.’
    ‘What’s going on, Pål shmål,’ laughs Rudi, repressing the thought. ‘There’s only one way out of here: piece by piece! like Slayer say. What’s gonna happen, Pålly Bålly? No one knows, baby! Like Foo Fighters say.’
    ‘Queens of the Stone Age.’
    ‘Eh?’
    ‘Queens of the Stone Age. No One Knows.’
    ‘Jesus. Are you gonna nitpick about that now? Who’s the dishcloth here?’
    Rudi suppresses his irritation and says no more. They draw closer to the woods and the radio is playing Coldplay. It’s pop music. And he hates pop music. But those violins and that melody, they get into your brain, and the lyrics, they force their way through your body, and everything reminds you of that troll sitting in the back seat: He’s got to have it.
    Because he loves it. And he’s a man of love.
    ‘Rudi, can you turn off that homo music? It makes me want to puke.’
    Rudi pretends not to hear what she said, and raising his voice, making it sound like an engine straining at full pelt, says: ‘Yeah,yeah, dishcloth or not, there’s one thing Rudi knows for sure, and that’s that tonight, Chessi, tonight I’m going to screw you seven ways to fuckin’ Sunday.’

4. THEY’RE SO BLOODY GORGEOUS (Daniel William)
    A little girl, really.
    Fifteen years of age. Her mum works at the church, her dad’s a lawyer and she oozes naivety. She’ll be sixteen in January. If she’s telling the truth, that is. She might be adding a few months on to her age. Girls lie all the time, especially about things like that. That’s the thing about them. The way they view the truth, it’s not the same way we do. The truth is always changing with girls. Runs from their mouths like dribble from old people.
    But they’re so bloody gorgeous.
    So, so bloody gorgeous.
    It would be a lot easier living with a man, as his last foster father used to say, before he added: ‘Not that I’m a fucking homo.’
    Homos. That’s just sick. It’s one thing to like boys, but not to like girls, that’s even worse.
    They’re so bloody gorgeous.
    When there are girls in the room, the rest of the world disappears. It just fucking explodes. There’s nothing else in the room other than them. And it’s a good feeling, like sniffing glue. Helicopter. Daniel has felt it a thousand times, and he wants to feel it again, because that’s the point of this life: if it’s good, get more of it.
    More, more, more.
    If you want to strip this scrap heap of a life down to its essence, then it’s girls you’re talking about. Daniel can sit behind the drum kit and play, he’s a good drummer, a dynamic player, he’s as tight as a sphincter, but in his head, while the sticks are hitting the skins, it’s girls he’s thinking about. They tumble around in his head while he plays. Big ones and small ones; fat ones and thinones, all kinds of girls. Tits, twats, asses, thighs, lipstick, tights, stockings, blouses, bras, dresses, kerchiefs, make-up, those straps between stockings and panties and everything that goes with a girl. It’s been like that ever since he was a little boy. Ever since he was in kindergarten on the other side of the city. There were just as many girls going round in his head when he was playing then as when he was