Short Story Collection by Charles Bukowski

Author:Charles Bukowski [Bukowski, Charles]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

table working people here!"

"yeah?"

"yes, Mr. Bukowski. I've been running this place for twenty

years and never, never have I seen such goings on as at your place!

we've always had respectable people here, Mr. Bukowski."

"yes, they're so respectable that every two weeks some son of

a bitch climbs up onto the roof and takes a header straight into your

cement entranceway between those phony potted plants."

"you've got until noon to get out, Mr. Bukowski!"

"what time is it now?"

"8 a.m."

"thank you."

I hung up. found an alka-seltzer, drank it out of a dirty glass.

then found a touch of wine. I opened the curtains and looked out at

the sun. it was a hard world, no news there, but I hated skidrow. I

like little rooms, little places to make some kind of fight from. a

woman, a drink, but no day by day job. I couldn't put it together. I

was not clever enough. I thought of jumping out the window but

couldn't do it. I got dressed and went down to Tommi-Hi's. the girls

were laughing down at the end of the bar with two guys. Marty the

bartender knew me. I waved him off. no money. I sat there.

a scotch and water arrived in front of me. a note.

"meet me at the Roach Hotel, room 12, at midnight. I'll have

the room for us.

love, Linda."

I drank the drink, got out of the way, tried the Roach Hotel at

Midnight. the desk clerk said, "nothing doing. no room 12 reserved

for a Bukowski." I came at one a.m. I'd been in the park all day, all

night, sitting. same thing. "no room 12 reserved for you, sir."

"any room reserved for m under that name or under the

name of Linda Bryan?"

"nothing sir."

"do you mind if I look into room 12?"

"there's nobody there, sir. I told you, sir."

"I'm in love, man. I'm sorry. please let me have a look!"

he gave me one of those looks reserved for 4th class idiots,

tossed me the doorkey.

"be back within 5 minutes or you're in trouble."

I opened the door, switched on the lights - "Linda!" - the

roaches, seeing the light, all ran back under the wallpaper. there were

thousands of them. when I put out the light you could hear them all

crawling back out. the wallpaper, itself, seemed to be just a large

roachskin.

I took the elevator back down to the desk clerk.

"thanks," I said, "you were right. nobody in room 12."

for the first time his voice seemed to take on some kind of

kindness.

"I'm sorry, man."

"thanks," I said.

when I got outside the hotel I turned left, which was east, which

was skidrow, and as my feet moved me slowly toward there I won-

dered, why do people lie? now I no longer wonder but I still remem-

ber, and now when they lie I almost know about it while they are

doing it, but I'm stil lnot as wise as that desk clerk in the roach

hotel

who knew that the lie was everywhere, or the people who dove past

my window while I was drinking port on warm afternoons in Los

Angeles across from McArthur park, where they still catch, kill, eat

the ducks, and, the people.

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