http://www.proza.ru/texts/2008/09/21/84.html



America is a very young country.



My girlfriend told me. The old man was taken to the hospital for an operation.

Ordinary such American grandfather ninety-five years old with excess

His name is John Milligan. All in old, all in old,

The medical card is thicker than himself, but still in his mind.

I asked for the address. A town of thousands per 15 inhabitants, the outskirts

Seattle, John Milligan Street, House 1



The registry nurse notes:

It must be a coincidence: you are John Milligan and John Street too.

by Milligan.



Grandpa says:

No wonder, I founded it. When I came in

In the early thirties, no one lived there. A clean field. I am

He chose a more beautiful place, put a buggy. I hanged the mailbox.

I come to the mail: here are my letters and newspapers, please. They

They ask which street, which house number. What a fucking street.

I was there from the road a little gravium poured out, so that "Ford"’t book.

And the whole street. Anyway, they say, it is not possible, name it somehow. I and I

Not long thinking. Then people began to settle around, somewhere.

are beautiful. Now, not everyone remembers that I am John Milligan.