You Get So Alone at Times That It Just Makes Sense - Charles Bukowski [20]
backed out of there and
drove away from my
job.
my absenteeism reached such astonishing
proportions
that I had to finally
park
at some expense
behind a Chinese bar
where all I could see were tiny shuttered
windows
with neon signs advertising some
oriental
libation.
it seemed less real, and that was
what was
needed.
the boil
I was making good with the girls on the assembly line at
Nabisco, I had recently beaten up the company
bully
on my lunch hour,
things were going well, I was from out of
town, the stranger who seldom spoke to
anybody, I was the mystery man, I was the
cool number,
almost all those fillies had an interest
in me
and the guys didn’t know
what the hell.
then one morning I awakened in my
room
with a huge boil on the side of
my head (right cheek)
and
it was damn near the size of a
golf ball.
I should have phoned in sick
but
I didn’t have the sense and
went on in
anyhow.
it made a difference: the women’s eyes
fell away from mine, and the guys
no longer acted fearful
and I felt defeated by
fate.
the boil remained
for
2 days
3 days
4 days.
on the 5th day the foreman handed me
my papers: “we’re cutting back, you’re
finished.”
this was one hour before
lunch.
I walked to my locker, opened it,
took off my apron and cap
threw them in there
along with the
key
and walked
out
a truly horrible walk
to the street
where I turned around
and looked back at the building
feeling as if they had
discovered
something
hideously indecent
about me.
not listed
my horse was the grey
a 4 to one shot
with early lick
and he had a length and
a half
3/4’s of the way
down the stretch
when his left front leg
snapped
and he tumbled
tossing the jock
over his neck and
head.
luckily
the field avoided both
the horse and the
jock—who
got up and limped away
from the kicking
animal.
accident potential:
that’s something
that’s not listed in
the Racing Form.
in the clubhouse
I saw Harry
standing in a far-
off corner.
he was an x-jock’s
agent
now working as a
trainer
but not having
too many mounts
to train.
he was behind his
dark shades
looking
awful.
“you have the grey?”
I asked.
“yeah,” he said,
“heavy…”
“you need a transfusion,
it’s not much but…”
I slipped
3 folded 20’s
into his coat
pocket.
“thanks,” he
said.
“put it on a good one.”
Harry had done me some
nice things
and anyhow
he was one of the
best
working for an edge
in one of the bloodiest
rackets
around: we are trying to
beat the percentages
and each day
some must fall
so that
others can go
on. (the track is just
like anyplace else
only there
it usually happens
more
quickly.)
I walked over and got
a coffee.
I liked the next
race
a six furlong affair for
non-winners of
two.
one good hit
would put the gods in
place
and cure
everything
in a flash of
glory…
I’m not a misogynist
more and more
I get letters from
young ladies:
“I’m a well-built 19
am between jobs and
your writing turns me
on
I’m a good housekeeper
and secretary and
would never get in
your way
and
would send a
photo but that’s
so tacky…”
“I’m 21
tall and attractive
have read your books
I work for a
lawyer and
if you’re ever in
town
please call me.”
“I met you
after your reading
at the Troubadour
we had a night
together
do you remember?
I married
that man
you told me had a
mean voice
when you phoned and
he answered
we’re divorced now
I have a little
girl
age 2
I am no longer in
the music
business but
miss it
would like to
see you
again…”
“I’ve read
all your books
I’m 23
not much
breast
but have great
legs
and
just a few
words
from you
would mean
so much
to me…”
girls
please give your
bodies and your
lives
to
the young men
who
deserve them
besides
there is
no way
I would welcome
the
intolerable
dull
senseless hell
you would bring
me
and
I wish you
luck
in bed
and
out
but not
in
mine
thank
you.
the lady in the castle
she lived in this house
that looked