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Wednesday, May 09, 2012
"I've made it," she said, "I've come
through." she had on new boots, pants
and a white sweater. "I know what I
want now." she was from Chicago and
had settled in L.A.'s Fairfax district.

"you promised me champagne,"
she said.
"I was drunk when I phoned. how about
a beer?"
"no, pass me your joint."
she inhaled, let it out:
"this isn't very good stuff."
she handed it back.

"there's a difference," I said, "between
making it and simply becoming hard."

"you like my boots?"
"yes, very nice."
"listen, I've got to go. can I use
your bathroom?"

when she came out she had on a
large lipstick mouth. I hadn't seen
one of those since I was a boy.
I kissed her in the doorway
feeling the lipstick rub off on my

"goodbye," she said.
"goodbye," I said.

she went up the walk toward her car.
I closed the door.

she knew what she wanted and it wasn't
I know more women like that than any
other kind.

Charles Bukowski, in Love is a Dog from Hell

Posted at 11:51 am by Chloe


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