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- Чарльз Буковски
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- Стр. 29/501
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"
It
didn
’
t
mean
anything
,
it
was
just
dancing
.
"
"
Suppose
that
I
grabbed
a
woman
on
the
street
like
that
?
Would
music
make
it
all
right
?
"
"
You
don
’
t
understand
.
Each
time
I
finished
dancing
I
came
back
and
sat
down
next
to
you
.
"
"
O
.
K
.
,
O
.
K
.
,
"
I
said
,
"
wait
a
minute
.
"
I
puked
up
another
gusher
on
somebody
’
s
dying
brush
.
We
walked
down
the
hill
out
of
the
Echo
Park
district
toward
Hollywood
Boulevard
.
We
got
into
the
car
.
It
started
and
we
drove
west
down
Hollywood
toward
Vermont
.
"
You
know
what
we
call
guys
like
you
?
"
asked
Lydia
.
"
No
.
"
"
We
call
them
,
"
she
said
,
"
party
-
poopers
.
"
We
came
in
low
over
Kansas
City
,
the
pilot
said
the
temperature
was
20
degrees
,
and
there
I
was
in
my
thin
California
sports
coat
and
shirt
,
lightweight
pants
,
summer
stockings
,
and
holes
in
my
shoes
.
As
we
landed
and
taxied
toward
the
ramp
everybody
was
reaching
for
overcoats
,
gloves
,
hats
,
mufflers
.
I
let
them
all
get
off
and
then
climbed
down
the
portable
stairway
.
There
was
Frenchy
leaning
against
a
building
and
waiting
.
Frenchy
taught
drama
and
collected
books
,
mostly
mine
.
"
Welcome
to
Kansas
Shitty
,
Chinaski
!
"
he
said
and
handed
me
a
bottle
of
tequila
.
I
took
a
good
gulp
and
followed
him
into
the
parking
lot
.
I
had
no
baggage
,
just
a
portfolio
full
of
poems
.
The
car
was
warm
and
pleasant
and
we
passed
the
bottle
.
