Кукла Winx Club. Музыкальный бар "Фрутти". Bloom

I bent, plucked the button out of the cold puddle of coffee it was lying in, wiped it on my jeans, put it in my pocket. Throwing it away had been the wrong idea. It was my button now —good luck charm or bad luck charm, it was mine. I left the hospital, giving Yvonne a little wave on my way by. Outside, the moon rode the roof of the sky, flooding the world with its strange and perfectly dreamy light. I had never felt so tired or so dispirited in my whole life. I wished I had the choice to make again. I would have made a different one. Which was funny — if I'd found her dead, as I'd expected to, I think I could have lived with it. After all, wasn't that the way stories like this one were supposed to end? Nobody wants to give a fella a ride in town (никто не хочет подвозить парня в городе), the old man with the truss had said (сказал старик с бандажом), and how true that was (и как/насколько же он был прав). I walked all the way across Lewiston — three dozen blocks of Lisbon Street and nine blocks of Canal Street (я шел весь путь через Льюистон, три дюжины кварталов по Лисбон-стрит и девять кварталов по Канал-стрит; block — колода, чурбан; глыба; квартал), past all the bottle clubs with the jukeboxes playing old songs by Foreigner and Led Zeppelin and AC/DC in French (мимо всех баров с музыкальными автоматами, играющими старые песни “Foreigner[7]”, “Led Zeppelin” и “AC/DC[8]” на французском; bottle club — частныйклубилипитейноезаведение, вкоторомподаюталкогольныенапиткипослезакрытияпитейныхзаведений; bottle — бутылка) — without putting my thumb out a single time (ни разу не выставив большой палец) ...»