Raging Bull 1980 Ok.ru -

Vinnie finally turned. His eyes were the same dark brown as Dom's, but where Dom's were tired, Vinnie's were lit—the wrong kind of lit. A furnace with the door left open.

On the grainy screen, he was beautiful. A bull in bronze. Head down, nostrils flared, hooking lefts to the liver while the crowd chanted "Vinnie the Vise." He watched himself destroy a man named Teddy "The Terrier" Hull—eleven rounds of cruelty so pure that the referee had to pull Vinnie off after the final bell. Vinnie hadn't even heard the bell. He'd kept swinging at the air, at the corners, at God.

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"Then you're going to die alone in a ring somewhere, and I'm going to read about it in the obituaries. And you know what I'll feel? Nothing. Because I already mourned you. I mourned you the first time you forgot my name."

Vinnie didn't look away from the screen. On the tape, his younger self was spitting blood into a bucket between rounds. "I'm making a comeback." Vinnie finally turned

Dom picked up both beers and walked back toward the stairs. At the top step, he stopped but didn't turn around.

"Turn it off, Vin."

"He still has his license."