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- Чарльз Буковски
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- Стр. 193/501
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"
I
haven
’
t
been
writing
.
I
think
it
’
s
over
for
me
.
"
"
How
long
has
it
been
?
"
"
Six
or
seven
days
.
"
"
This
is
the
place
.
.
.
"
Joanna
pulled
into
a
parking
lot
.
She
drove
very
fast
,
but
she
didn
’
t
drive
fast
as
if
she
meant
to
break
the
law
.
She
drove
fast
as
if
it
were
her
given
right
.
There
was
a
difference
and
I
appreciated
it
.
We
got
a
table
away
from
the
crowd
.
It
was
cool
and
quiet
and
dark
in
there
.
I
liked
it
.
I
went
for
the
lobster
.
Joanna
went
for
something
strange
.
She
ordered
it
in
French
.
She
was
sophisticated
,
traveled
.
In
a
sense
,
as
much
as
I
disliked
it
,
education
helped
when
you
were
looking
at
a
menu
or
for
a
job
,
especially
when
you
were
looking
at
a
menu
.
I
always
felt
inferior
to
waiters
.
I
had
arrived
too
late
and
with
too
little
.
The
waiters
all
read
Truman
Capote
.
I
read
the
race
results
.
The
dinner
was
good
and
out
on
the
gulf
were
the
shrimp
boats
,
the
patrol
boats
and
the
pirates
.
The
lobster
tasted
good
in
my
mouth
,
and
I
drank
him
down
with
fine
wine
.
Good
fellow
.
I
always
liked
you
in
your
pink
-
red
shell
,
dangerous
and
slow
.
Back
at
Joanna
Dover
’
s
place
we
had
a
delicious
bottle
of
red
wine
.
We
sat
in
the
dark
watching
the
few
cars
pass
in
the
street
below
.
We
were
quiet
.
Then
Joanna
spoke
.
"
Hank
?
"
"
Yes
?
"
