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Charles Bukowski

Ham On Rye

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    When I was back in my bedroom I thought, these people are not my parents, they must have adopted me and now they are unhappy with what I have become.
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    Golden State Creamery.'

    Маслозавод "Голден Стейт".'

  • fsagdihar citeretfor 3 år siden
    My parents had gotten me a typewriter and I had tried some short stories but they had come out very bitter and ragged. Not that that was so bad but the stories seemed to beg, they didn't have their own vitality. My stories were darker than Becker's, stranger, but they didn't work. Well, one or two of them had worked - for me - but it was more or less as if they had fallen into place instead of being guided there. Becker was clearly better. Maybe I'd try painting
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    The fucker looked, turned and ran off. He had a stupid ass. Two little pear-shaped buttocks wobbling, almost disjointed. But, another enemy gone.
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    "You gotta be baptized to go to heaven."

    "We ought to baptize him."

    "Think we should?"

    "He deserves a chance to go to heaven."

    I picked him up and we walked into the church. We took him to the bowl of holy water and I held him there as Frank sprinkled the water on his forehead.

    "I hereby baptize you," said Frank.

    We took him outside and put him back on the sidewalk again.

    "He even looks different," I said
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    I had always been good company for myself.
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