she was a short one

without cigarettesor wine–just a lightbulband a potbelly,grayhaired,and glad to havethe room.

man behind me asked,‘are you HenryChinaski?’‘uh huh,’ I answered.‘I like your books,’ he wenton.‘thanks,’ I answered.‘who do you like in thisrace?’ he asked.‘uh uh,’ I answered.‘I like the 4 horse,’ hetold me.I made my bet and went backto my seat….the next race I am standing inline and here is this same manstanding behind meagain.there are…

and if I didn’t get home on timeshe’d be gone, and I couldn’t bear that-I’d go mad…it was foolish I know, childish,but I was caught in it, I was caught.I delivered all the mailand then Henderson put me on the night pickup runin an old army truck,the damn thing began to heat halfway through the…

and keep right on going without regard forpumas and nectarinessomehow these mountains are likean old woman with a bad memory anda shopping basket.we are in a basin. that is theidea. down in the sand and the alleys,this land punched-in, cuffed-out, divided,held like a crucifix in a deathhand,this land bought, resold, bought again andsold again, the…

bu isler boyle mi oluyor?bu odada hala ask saatlerinin golgeleri var.birakip gittiginde asagi yukari herseyi alip gittin.geceleri beni ben olmaya koymayan kaplanlarin onunde diz cokuyorum.senin sen olman asla bir daha olmayacak.kaplanlar beni buldular ama artik umurumda bile degil.translated by somebody

hours,the moonlight always seemed faketo me, maybe it was,and in the French Quarter I watchedthe horses and buggies going by,everybody sitting high in the opencarriages, the black driver, and inback the man and the woman,usually young and always white.and I was always white.and hardly charmed by theworld.New Orleans was a place tohide.I could piss away…