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- Чарльз Буковски
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"
This
typewriter
has
spent
its
whole
life
up
to
now
in
an
insane
asylum
,
"
the
lady
told
us
.
"
It
’
s
going
to
the
right
person
,
"
I
replied
.
I
gave
the
lady
a
twenty
and
we
drove
back
.
Filbert
was
gone
.
"
Don
’
t
you
want
to
come
in
for
a
while
?
"
Tammie
asked
.
"
No
,
I
’
ve
got
to
go
.
"
She
was
able
to
carry
the
typer
in
without
help
.
It
was
a
portable
.
I
drank
for
the
next
week
.
I
drank
night
and
day
and
wrote
25
or
30
mournful
poems
about
lost
love
.
It
was
Friday
night
when
the
phone
rang
.
It
was
Mercedes
.
"
I
got
married
,
"
she
said
,
"
to
Little
Jack
.
You
met
him
at
the
party
that
night
you
read
in
Venice
.
He
’
s
a
nice
guy
and
he
’
s
got
money
.
We
’
re
moving
to
the
Valley
.
"
"
All
right
,
Mercedes
,
luck
with
it
all
.
"
"
But
I
miss
drinking
and
talking
with
you
.
Suppose
I
come
over
tonight
?
"
