Post Office

by Charles Bukowski

What I mean by big was that her ass was big and her tits were big and that she was big in all the right places. She seemed a bit crazy but I kept looking at her body and I didn’t care.

“How about the dog?” “You keep the dog,” I said. “He’s going to miss you.” “I’m glad somebody is going to miss me.”

Man's best friend

“Baby, that’s grammar school. Any damn fool can beg up some kind of job; it takes a wise man to make it without working. Out here we call it ‘hustling.’

The hustle

I checked two ads, went to two places and both of the places hired me. The first place smelled like work, so I took the second.

Job search advise .

I had come to the racetrack after the other two funerals and had won. There was something about funerals. It made you see things better. A funeral a day and I’d be rich.

I listened and listened and listened, thinking what will I do now? How will I get this poor mad bastard to shut up? I went home each night dizzy and sick. He was murdering me with the sound of his voice.

I got drunker and stayed drunker than a shit skunk in Purgatory.