like a seed, settled in the abdominal area and with each note grew and expanded, filling itself with her in an instant the body became pliable and obedient. And the body itself resonated in unison with the growth of the voice inside, vibrated to the meditative music outside ... Suddenly a lump separated from him, and Sally saw herself from the side - standing just a couple of steps from the vocalist, touching the stage ... raised her head - or what could she have raised? - and saw what his voice looks like ...

... A funnel, like a whirlpool, just not swirling around and frightening in its speed, but slowly, like a slow-moving vinyl record. The girl was standing on the very edge of this funnel, waves-grooves were running under her; it turned into a needle, which, scratching the surface, glides over it and plays music itself, and at the same time it-the person stood and looked into the very back of the whirlpool. Here, at first, a dazzling white appeared on the neckline, casting the blue tip of the dagger, into which some pale streets with sleepy houses stretched out - but this is the Sunset Strip! “... then the dagger crumbled into pieces with the dazzling brilliance of a gold mine, in which the girl looked from above ... In her eyes, gold began to blur in a sunny lake against which a red-eyed lead snake was floating ... No, it was a serpent Sally saw his excited royal penis, swaying from side to side to the beat of the curves of the whole body. Some people began to appear next to the serpent - a teenager with sad eyes, a beautiful young girl about his age ... a middle-aged woman with a noble aristocratic face (Sally had never seen aristocrats in her life, but for some reason was sure that so they look). Some strange warmth emanated from them, so Sally desperately wanted to go there, to them, to that funnel. But at this time, the serpent turned to her so that she saw his invitingly dangling body right in front of her face, and turning into his own member, he said: "I want to ...". The head of a member has finished the phrase - “fuck you r mo uth ...”

But this was not some abstract desire. The order sounded clearly in that voice. And who was Sally to disobey him? ... The girl saw how she herself obediently stretched face to proudly protruding dignity ... how she opened her little mouth ... and now the triumphant phallus itself touched her lips ... tongue. .. palate ... The girl was just a little - squeeze it with his lips ...

The member pulsated warmly in her mouth, vividly responding to every touch and caress. He filled all the space in front of her and inside her. Sally with pleasure squeezed the head with her lips, tickled her and licked. Then brisk tongue took up the trunk. The girl tried to deliver the member maximum pleasure. And the penis clearly liked her efforts - Sally very soon felt how he began to moisten.

And around the music sounded triumphant. Music greeted her head and mouth, sang every movement of her tongue on the head ... on the trunk ... back and forth ... more and more ...

***

Something in Morrison's voice made Ray tear his head away from the keys and, with an effort of pulling consciousness out of the stream, carefully look at him. At first it was a change of tonality - Jim did not sing his mantras in a monotonous voice, but read poems, without departing from a given rhythm, automatically performed by musicians who did not understand anything. The next second, the keyboardist realized that the vocalist was reading:

The killer awoke before dawn.

He put a boots on,

He took a face from the ancient gallery

And he walked on down the hall ...

Ray did not remember these verses. And even could not vouch for the fact that Jim does not compose them on the go. He looked at Robbie, then at John — they also looked at each other, puzzled. Krieger began to play quieter, but it seemed that Morrison did not care:

He went to the room where he lived

Heed to visit his brother

He walked on down the hall! ..

From the voice, the keyboard player realized that now something would happen that had a premonition that did not let him go through the whole song, and a quick fling of glances with the others only strengthened him in that confidence. The musicians began to play more nervously. No one dared to interrupt the song - it was impossible to do. In secret, Ray hoped that maybe Jim himself, hearing the desperate signals given to him through music, would come to his senses ... maybe he would stop at the very edge where he himself fell, inevitably and fatally, intoxicated with his inevitability and fatality, and carried away the rest ...

But, damn it, how beautiful this fall was in the inevitability that they themselves created!

And he came to the door,

And he look inside ...

Somewhere in Manzarek's subconscious, a feeling began to be born that this was no longer just a song, but a settling of accounts, some kind of very personal and important conversation for Morrison ... with whom?

“Father? "-" Yes, son. "

"I want to kill you."

"Mother ... I want to ..."

And, suddenly opening his eyes and staring at one point, Jim suddenly cried out - as if he had spat out a hated, purulent phlegm that had been hovering inside for a long time:

"... f uck you, motheeer!"

Ray saw a wave of horror sweep through the hall. Listeners involuntarily recoiled from the scene. Yes, and his very heart collapsed down. He could not look away from Morrison, could not look at the other musicians - and without this, he understood that they were overwhelmed by similar feelings. And he saw something else ... -

... as one of the girls standing near the scene - short, pretty, fair-haired - reached for Jim ... as she unzipped his worn and patched leather pants more than once ... Further from the musician was already shielded. Tried to drag the girl away or not, Manzarek didn’t care: looking at the exit from the stage by chance, he noticed Elmore Valentine, one of the club’s owners, who were waiting for them. Well, that should have been expected. It really was the "end" ...

And Jim - either shouted, vyhripival in a microphone incoherent set of words, or imitated the sounds of pleasure from the rolling orgasm, or really experienced an orgasm ... Ray was no longer aware of what was happening on the stage, but only convulsively, nervously displayed on the organ his party, intuitively understanding that only delaying the song saves them now from inevitable reprisal behind the scenes.

The real turmoil reigned in the club, so no one paid attention, as if from a hall, a pale beautiful middle-aged woman with a noble aristocratic face slowly reeled out; how she leaned in helplessness against the carefree dark green mirror wall of the club; how did the driver jump to her question “Is it bad for you, Mrs. Morrison?”

Five minutes later, Sally appeared disheveled, disheveled, with a wandering otherworldly gaze and a strange smile on her face. She took several uncertain steps, leaned over the parapet, and vomited something white ...

Los Angeles. August 22, 1966.

- Whore!

The biting slap burned and stunned the girl, throwing her back on the old battered sofa. She didn’t even cry out, just holding on to her slowly turning purple cheek, looked at David standing over her and answering her with a hateful look.

- Well, you bitch, Sally!

The girl was silent. And what could she say in response?

- Why did not you call? She finally asked quietly. - I was waiting for you ... We could go together. This could not be ...

- What?! - David did not believe his ears. - And I'm still to blame for the fact that you sucked that bastard?

He swung. Sally tucked her legs and covered her head with her hands, waiting for the blow, but instead there was the sound of broken glass. She took her hands off. Her small wall mirror was lying on the floor, some knickknacks swept away by David's hand, falling nearby. Some crashed.

The girl wanted to ask him to stop, otherwise her child would wake up, but instead she just sat and watched the cozy room turn into a devastated paradise before her eyes. Usually calm, good-natured, David shouted some curses in an unrecognizable voice, but she didn’t hear them: suddenly her eyes clouded again, and it seemed to her that yesterday’s funnel was spinning around her room, sucking in all the space around. ..

And Sally has not forgotten the taste of the penis, which appeared to her yesterday from this very funnel ...

The guy froze in half-turn with his fist brought in for the next strike: the girl slipped off the couch and crawled to her on her broken glass to her, pushing the scattered things.

- You ... what are you doing?! ..

Sally did not answer, but only crawled up - closer, closer ... David became frightened. He backed away to the front door, leaned on her and, shouting at the end, "You, fool !!!" promptly rushed out onto the street.

The funnel suddenly disappeared, falling into the open abyss. Sally remained on her knees, mindlessly looking at the one who had closed behind the guy - the former? - a door.

Her baby cried from behind — soft at first. Then - louder.

The girl did not hear anything.

The epilogue of the author (“voice over”).

That evening, the group was really kicked out of the club with a “wolf ticket”, as Ray Manzarek was afraid of. But the musicians were incredibly lucky: literally two days before that, they had signed a very lucrative contract with the recording company Elektra. For the company itself, which previously worked exclusively with jazz musicians, this was a novelty. Therefore, that evening, its director, Jack Holtzman, attended the concert along with producer Paul Rothschild, whom he urged to work with a new group. And, impressed by the performance, they immediately offered the musicians to begin work on recording the first album. They agreed.

And after five months, the first album with a simple, even modest title “The Doors” was released. And he created such a sensation that even the Beatles group ordered four copies of this record for themselves - according to the number of its members.

The last song of this album was “The end”. Everyone who worked on her recording in the studio, remember this as one of the most vivid moments in life. True, in the final version, the song was slightly softened, replacing Morrison’s obscene shout with his inarticulate growl and the rolling rumble of Densmore’s drums.

Since 2003, the song has occupied the 328th place in the list of “500 best songs of all time” according to the version of Rolling Stone magazine. And this is a fact.