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- Чарльз Буковски
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"
Let
’
s
fuck
,
"
I
said
.
Debra
walked
into
the
bedroom
.
There
was
a
half
a
bottle
of
wine
left
on
the
coffee
table
.
I
poured
myself
a
drink
and
lit
one
of
her
cigarettes
.
She
turned
off
the
rock
music
.
That
was
nice
.
It
was
quiet
.
I
poured
another
drink
.
Maybe
I
would
move
in
?
Where
would
I
put
the
typewriter
?
"
Henry
?
"
"
What
?
"
"
Where
are
you
?
"
"
Wait
.
I
just
want
to
finish
this
drink
.
"
"
All
right
.
"
I
finished
the
glass
and
then
poured
down
what
was
left
in
the
bottle
.
I
was
in
Playa
del
Rey
.
I
undressed
,
leaving
my
clothes
in
a
messy
pile
on
the
couch
.
I
had
never
been
a
dresser
.
My
shirts
were
all
faded
and
shrunken
,
5
or
6
years
old
,
threadbare
.
My
pants
the
same
.
I
hated
department
stores
,
I
hated
the
clerks
,
they
acted
so
superior
,
they
seemed
to
know
the
secret
of
life
,
they
had
a
confidence
I
didn
’
t
possess
.
My
shoes
were
always
broken
down
and
old
,
I
disliked
shoe
stores
too
.
I
never
purchased
anything
until
it
was
completely
unusable
,
and
that
included
automobiles
.
It
wasn
’
t
a
matter
of
thrift
,
I
just
couldn
’
t
bear
to
be
a
buyer
needing
a
seller
,
seller
being
so
handsome
and
aloof
and
superior
.
Besides
,
it
all
took
time
,
time
when
you
could
just
be
laying
around
and
drinking
.
I
walked
into
the
bedroom
with
just
my
shorts
on
.
I
was
conscious
of
my
white
belly
lolling
out
over
the
shorts
