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Charles Bukowski

Ham On Rye

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    “Are you a cynic?”
    “I’m unhappy. If I was a cynic it would probably make me feel better.”
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    Any boy who brought an umbrella to school or wore a raincoat was singled out. Most of our parents were too poor to buy us such things. And when they did, we hid them in the bushes. Anybody seen carrying an umbrella or wearing a raincoat was considered a sissy. They were beaten after school. David’s mother had him carry an umbrella whenever it was the least bit cloudy.
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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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    I felt good under the table. Nobody seemed to know that I was there.
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    Golden State Creamery.'

    Маслозавод "Голден Стейт".'

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    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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    It's too bad dogs can't go to heaven," said Frank.

    "Why can't they?"

    "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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