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- Чарльз Буковски
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"
That
’
s
escapism
.
"
"
Everything
is
:
playing
golf
,
sleeping
,
eating
,
walking
,
arguing
,
jogging
,
breathing
,
fucking
.
.
.
"
"
Fucking
?
"
"
Look
,
we
’
re
talking
like
high
school
children
.
Let
’
s
get
you
on
the
plane
.
"
It
wasn
’
t
going
well
.
I
wanted
to
kiss
her
but
I
sensed
her
reserve
.
A
wall
.
Iris
wasn
’
t
feeling
good
,
I
guess
,
and
I
wasn
’
t
feeling
good
.
"
All
right
,
"
she
said
,
"
we
’
ll
check
in
and
then
go
get
a
drink
.
Then
I
’
ll
fly
away
forever
:
real
smooth
,
real
easy
,
no
pain
.
"
"
All
right
!
"
I
said
.
And
that
was
just
the
way
it
was
.
The
way
back
:
Century
Boulevard
east
,
down
to
Crenshaw
,
up
8th
Avenue
,
then
Arlington
to
Wilton
.
I
decided
to
pick
up
my
laundry
and
turned
right
on
Beverly
Boulevard
I
drove
into
the
lot
behind
the
Silverette
Cleaners
and
parked
the
Volks
.
As
I
did
a
young
black
girl
in
a
red
dress
walked
past
.
She
had
a
marvelous
swing
to
her
ass
,
a
most
marvelous
motion
.
Then
the
building
blocked
my
view
.
She
had
the
movements
;
it
was
as
if
life
had
given
a
few
women
a
supple
grace
and
denied
the
rest
.
She
had
that
indescribable
grace
.
I
stepped
out
onto
the
sidewalk
and
watched
her
from
behind
.
I
saw
her
turn
and
look
back
.
Then
she
stood
and
stared
at
me
,
looking
back
over
her
shoulder
.
I
walked
into
the
laundry
.
When
I
came
out
with
my
things
she
was
standing
by
my
Volks
.
I
put
the
things
inside
from
the
passenger
’
s
side
.
Then
I
moved
around
to
the
driver
’
s
side
.
She
stood
in
front
of
me
.
She
was
about
27
with
a
very
round
face
,
impassive
.
We
were
standing
very
close
together
.
