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- Чарльз Буковски
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We
drove
around
looking
for
a
Christmas
tree
.
I
wasn
’
t
too
anxious
to
get
a
tree
(
Christmas
had
always
been
an
unhappy
time
in
my
childhood
)
and
when
we
found
all
the
lots
empty
,
the
lack
of
a
tree
didn
’
t
bother
me
.
Sara
was
unhappy
as
we
drove
back
.
But
after
we
got
in
and
had
a
few
glasses
of
white
wine
she
regained
her
spirits
and
went
about
hanging
Christmas
ornaments
,
lights
,
and
tinsel
everywhere
,
some
of
the
tinsel
in
my
hair
.
I
had
read
that
more
people
committed
suicide
on
Christmas
Eve
and
on
Christmas
Day
than
at
any
other
time
.
The
holiday
had
little
or
nothing
to
do
with
the
Birth
of
Christ
,
apparently
.
All
the
radio
music
was
sickening
and
the
t
.
v
.
was
worse
,
so
we
turned
it
off
and
she
phoned
her
mother
in
Maine
.
I
spoke
to
Mama
too
and
Mama
was
not
all
that
bad
.
"
At
first
,
"
said
Sara
,
"
I
was
thinking
about
fixing
you
up
with
Mama
but
she
’
s
older
than
you
are
.
"
"
Forget
it
.
"
"
She
had
nice
legs
.
"
"
Forget
it
.
"
"
Are
you
prejudiced
against
old
age
?
"
"
Yes
,
everybody
’
s
old
age
but
mine
.
"
"
You
act
like
a
movie
star
.
Have
you
always
had
women
20
or
30
years
younger
than
you
?
"
