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- Чарльз Буковски
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- Стр. 251/501
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I
got
back
to
my
place
and
started
loading
the
cartons
of
her
stuff
into
my
Volks
.
Also
record
albums
,
blankets
,
toys
.
The
Volks
,
of
course
,
didn
’
t
hold
too
much
.
I
speeded
back
to
Tammie
’
s
.
I
pulled
up
and
double
-
parked
,
put
the
red
warning
lights
on
.
I
pulled
the
boxes
out
of
the
car
and
stacked
them
on
the
porch
.
I
covered
them
with
blankets
and
toys
,
rang
the
bell
and
drove
off
.
When
I
came
back
with
the
second
load
the
first
load
was
gone
.
I
made
another
stack
,
rang
the
bell
and
wheeled
off
like
a
missile
.
When
I
came
back
with
the
third
load
the
second
was
gone
.
I
made
a
new
stack
and
rang
the
bell
.
Then
I
was
off
again
into
the
early
morning
.
When
I
got
back
to
my
place
I
had
a
vodka
and
water
and
looked
at
what
was
left
.
There
was
the
heavy
rattan
chair
and
the
stand
-
up
hair
dryer
.
I
could
only
make
one
more
run
.
It
was
either
the
chair
or
the
dryer
.
The
Volks
couldn
’
t
consume
both
.
I
decided
on
the
rattan
chair
.
It
was
4
am
.
I
was
double
-
parked
in
front
of
my
place
with
the
warning
lights
on
.
I
finished
the
vodka
and
water
.
I
was
getting
drunker
and
weaker
.
I
picked
up
the
rattan
,
it
was
really
heavy
,
and
carried
it
down
the
walk
to
my
car
.
I
sat
it
down
and
opened
the
door
opposite
the
driver
’
s
side
.
I
jammed
the
rattan
chair
in
.
Then
I
tried
to
close
the
door
.
The
chair
was
sticking
out
.
I
tried
to
pull
the
chair
out
of
the
car
.
It
was
stuck
.
I
cursed
,
and
pushed
it
further
in
.
One
leg
of
the
rattan
poked
through
the
windshield
and
stuck
out
,
pointing
at
the
sky
.
The
door
still
wouldn
’
t
close
.
It
wasn
’
t
even
close
.
I
tried
to
push
the
leg
of
the
chair
further
through
the
windshield
so
that
I
could
close
the
door
.
It
wouldn
’
t
budge
.
The
chair
was
jammed
in
tight
.
I
tried
to
pull
it
out
.
It
wouldn
’
t
move
.
Desperately
I
pulled
and
pushed
,
pulled
and
pushed
.
If
the
police
came
,
I
was
finished
.
After
some
time
I
wearied
.
I
climbed
in
the
driver
’
s
side
.
There
were
no
parking
spaces
in
the
street
.
I
drove
the
car
down
to
the
pizza
parlor
parking
lot
,
the
open
door
swinging
back
and
forth
.
I
left
it
there
with
the
door
open
,
the
ceiling
light
on
.
(
The
ceiling
light
wouldn
’
t
shut
off
.
)
The
windshield
was
smashed
,
the
chair
leg
poking
out
into
the
moonlight
.
The
whole
scene
was
indecent
,
mad
.
It
smacked
of
murder
and
assassination
.
My
beautiful
car
.
I
walked
down
the
street
and
back
to
my
place
.
I
poured
another
vodka
and
water
and
phoned
Tammie
.
"
Look
,
baby
,
I
’
m
in
a
jam
.
I
’
ve
got
your
chair
stuck
through
my
windshield
and
I
can
’
t
get
it
out
and
I
can
’
t
get
it
in
and
the
door
won
’
t
close
.
The
windshield
is
smashed
.
What
can
I
do
?
Help
me
,
for
Christ
’
s
sake
!
"
"
You
’
ll
think
of
something
,
Hank
.
"
