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- Чарльз Буковски
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"
What
are
you
going
to
do
?
"
Sara
asked
.
"
I
’
m
going
to
Debra
’
s
.
I
said
I
’
d
be
there
in
45
minutes
.
"
"
But
I
thought
we
’
d
have
lunch
together
.
I
know
this
Mexican
place
.
"
"
Look
,
she
’
s
concerned
.
How
can
we
sit
around
and
chat
over
lunch
?
"
"
I
have
my
mind
set
on
lunch
with
you
.
"
"
Hell
,
when
do
you
feed
your
people
?
"
"
I
open
at
eleven
.
It
’
s
only
ten
now
.
"
"
All
right
,
let
’
s
go
eat
.
.
.
"
It
was
a
Mexican
place
in
a
snide
hippie
district
of
Hermosa
Beach
.
Bland
,
indifferent
types
.
Death
on
the
shore
.
Just
phase
out
,
breathe
in
,
wear
sandals
and
pretend
it
’
s
a
fine
world
.
While
we
were
waiting
for
our
order
Sara
reached
out
and
dipped
her
finger
into
a
bowl
of
hot
sauce
,
and
then
sucked
her
finger
.
Then
she
dipped
again
.
She
bent
her
head
over
the
bowl
.
Strands
of
her
straight
hair
poked
at
me
.
She
kept
sticking
her
finger
into
the
bowl
and
sucking
.
