Читать книгу The Pleasures of the Damned - Charles Bukowski - Страница 28

blue beads and bones

as the orchid dies

and the grass goes

insane, let’s have one for the lost:

I met an old man

and a tired whore

in a bar

at 8:00 in the morning

across from MacArthur Park—

we were sitting over our beers

he and I and the old whore

who had slept in an unlocked car

the night before

and wore a blue necklace.

the old guy said to me:

“look at my arms. I’m all bone.

no meat on me.”

and he pulled back his sleeves

and he was right—

bone with just a layer of skin

hanging like paper.

he said, “I don’t eat

nothin’.”

I bought him a beer and the

whore a beer.

now there, I thought, is a man

who doesn’t eat

meat, he doesn’t eat

vegetables. kind of a saint.

it was like a church in there

as only the truly lost

sit in bars on Tuesday mornings

at 8:00 a.m.

then the whore said, “Jesus,

if I don’t score tonight I’m

finished. I’m scared, I’m really

scared. you guys can go to skid row

when things get bad. but where can a

woman go?”

we couldn’t answer her.

she picked up her beer with one hand

and played with her blue beads with the

other.

I finished my beer, went to the

corner and got a Racing Form from Teddy the

newsboy—age 61.

“you got a hot one today?”

“no, Teddy, I gotta see the board; money

makes them run.”

“I’ll give you 4 bucks. bet one for

me.”

I took his 4 bucks. that would buy a sandwich,

pay parking, plus 2

coffees. I got into my car, drove

off. too early for the

track. blue beads and bones. the

universe was

bent. a cop rode his bike right up

behind me. the day had really

begun.