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- Чарльз Буковски
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- Стр. 299/501
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I
found
the
ice
machine
and
came
back
with
the
ice
and
put
it
in
the
wash
basin
and
stuck
the
beers
in
there
.
"
You
don
’
t
want
to
get
too
bombed
,
"
said
Joe
.
"
You
really
start
slurring
your
words
.
"
"
They
don
’
t
give
a
damn
.
They
just
want
me
on
the
cross
.
"
"
$
500
for
an
hour
’
s
work
?
"
asked
Dudley
.
"
You
call
that
a
cross
?
"
"
Yeah
.
"
"
You
’
re
some
Christ
!
"
Dudley
and
Paul
left
and
Joe
and
I
went
out
to
one
of
the
local
coffeehouses
for
food
and
drink
.
We
found
a
table
.
The
first
thing
we
knew
,
strangers
were
pulling
chairs
up
to
our
table
.
All
men
.
What
shit
.
There
were
some
pretty
girls
there
but
they
just
looked
and
smiled
,
or
they
didn
’
t
look
and
they
didn
’
t
smile
.
I
figured
the
ones
who
didn
’
t
smile
hated
me
because
of
my
attitude
towards
women
.
Fuck
them
.
Jack
Mitchell
was
there
and
Mike
Tufts
,
both
poets
.
Neither
worked
for
a
living
despite
the
fact
their
poetry
paid
them
nothing
.
They
lived
on
will
power
and
handouts
.
Mitchell
was
really
a
good
poet
but
his
luck
was
bad
.
He
deserved
better
.
Then
Blast
Grimly
,
the
singer
,
walked
over
.
Blast
was
always
drunk
.
I
had
never
seen
him
sober
There
were
a
couple
of
others
at
the
table
who
I
didn
’
t
know
.
"
Mr
.
Chinaski
?
"
