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There
was
no
sound
from
the
kitchen
.
I
opened
the
front
door
and
walked
out
.
The
Volks
started
.
I
turned
the
radio
on
,
the
headlights
on
and
drove
back
to
L
.
A
.
Wednesday
night
found
me
at
the
airport
waiting
for
Iris
.
I
sat
around
and
looked
at
the
women
.
None
of
them
-
except
for
one
or
two
-
looked
as
good
as
Iris
.
There
was
something
wrong
with
me
:
I
did
think
of
sex
a
great
deal
.
Each
woman
I
looked
at
I
imagined
being
in
bed
with
.
It
was
an
interesting
way
to
pass
airport
waiting
time
.
Women
:
I
liked
the
colors
of
their
clothing
;
the
way
they
walked
;
the
cruelty
in
some
faces
;
now
and
then
the
almost
pure
beauty
in
another
face
,
totally
and
enchantingly
female
.
They
had
it
over
us
:
they
planned
much
better
and
were
better
organized
.
While
men
were
watching
professional
football
or
drinking
beer
or
bowling
,
they
,
the
women
,
were
thinking
about
us
,
concentrating
,
studying
,
deciding
-
whether
to
accept
us
,
discard
us
,
exchange
us
,
kill
us
or
whether
simply
to
leave
us
.
In
the
end
it
hardly
mattered
;
no
matter
what
they
did
,
we
ended
up
lonely
and
insane
.
I
had
bought
Iris
and
myself
a
turkey
,
an
18
-
pounder
.
It
was
on
my
sink
,
thawing
out
.
Thanksgiving
.
It
proved
you
had
survived
.
another
year
with
its
wars
,
inflation
,
unemployment
,
smog
,
presidents
.
It
was
a
grand
neurotic
gathering
of
clans
:
loud
drunks
,
grandmothers
,
sisters
,
aunts
,
screaming
children
,
would
-
be
suicides
.
And
don
’
t
forget
indigestion
.
I
wasn
’
t
different
from
anyone
else
:
there
sat
the
18
pound
bird
on
my
sink
,
dead
,
plucked
,
totally
disembowled
.
Iris
would
roast
it
for
me
.
I
had
received
a
letter
in
the
mail
that
afternoon
.
I
took
it
out
of
my
pocket
and
re
-
read
it
.
It
had
been
mailed
from
Berkeley
:
Dear
Mr
.
Chinaski
:
You
don
’
t
know
me
but
I
’
m
a
cute
bitch
.
I
’
ve
been
going
with
sailors
and
one
truck
driver
but
they
don
’
t
satisfy
me
.
I
mean
,
we
fuck
and
then
there
’
s
nothing
more
.
There
’
s
no
substance
to
those
sons
of
bitches
.
I
’
m
22
and
I
have
a
5
year
old
daughter
,
Aster
.
I
live
with
a
guy
but
there
’
s
no
sex
,
we
just
live
together
.
His
name
is
Rex
.
I
’
d
like
to
come
see
you
.
My
mom
could
watch
Aster
.
Enclosed
is
a
photo
of
me
.
Write
me
if
you
feel
like
it
.
I
’
ve
read
some
of
your
books
.
They
are
hard
to
find
in
bookstores
.
What
I
like
about
your
writing
is
that
you
are
so
easy
to
understand
.
And
you
’
re
funny
too
.
yours
,
Tanya
