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- Чарльз Буковски
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"
We
expected
somebody
quite
different
,
"
said
Cecelia
.
"
Oh
?
"
"
I
mean
,
your
voice
is
so
soft
,
and
you
seem
gentle
.
Bill
expected
you
to
get
off
the
plane
drunk
and
cursing
,
making
passes
at
the
women
.
.
.
"
"
I
never
pump
up
my
vulgarity
.
I
wait
for
it
to
arrive
on
its
own
terms
.
"
"
You
’
re
reading
tomorrow
night
,
"
said
Bill
.
"
Good
,
we
’
ll
have
fun
tonight
and
forget
everything
.
"
We
drove
on
.
That
night
Keesing
was
as
interesting
as
his
letters
and
poems
.
He
had
the
good
sense
to
stay
away
from
literature
in
our
conversation
,
except
now
and
then
.
We
talked
about
other
things
.
I
didn
’
t
have
much
luck
in
person
with
most
poets
even
when
their
letters
and
poems
were
good
.
I
’
d
met
Douglas
Fazzick
with
less
than
charming
results
.
It
was
best
to
stay
away
from
other
writers
and
just
do
your
work
,
or
just
not
do
your
work
.
Cecelia
retired
early
.
She
had
a
job
to
go
to
in
the
morning
.
"
Cecelia
is
divorcing
me
,
"
Bill
told
me
.
"
I
don
’
t
blame
her
.
She
’
s
sick
of
my
drugs
,
my
puke
,
my
whole
thing
.
She
’
s
stood
it
for
years
.
Now
she
can
’
t
take
it
any
longer
.
I
can
’
t
give
her
much
of
a
fuck
anymore
.
She
’
s
running
with
this
teenage
kid
.
I
can
’
t
blame
her
.
I
’
ve
moved
out
,
I
’
ve
got
a
room
.
We
can
go
there
and
sleep
or
I
can
go
there
and
sleep
and
you
can
stay
here
or
we
both
can
stay
here
,
it
doesn
’
t
matter
to
me
.
"
