Post Office

by Charles Bukowski

“Which way you going in?” Moto asked. “The shortest distance between two points, I was taught, is a straight line,” I answered him.

Food is good for the nerves and the spirit. Courage comes from the belly-all else is desperation.

Any damn fool can beg up some kind of job; it takes a wise man to make it without working.

I wasn’t much of a petty thief. I wanted the whole world or nothing.

“WHAT’S WRONG WITH ASSHOLES, BABY? YOU’VE GOT AN ASSHOLE, I’VE GOT AN ASSHOLE! YOU GO TO THE STORE AND BUY A PORTERHOUSE STEAK, THAT HAD AN ASSHOLE! ASSHOLES COVER THE EARTH! IN A WAY TREES HAVE ASSHOLES BUT YOU CAN’T FIND THEM, THEY JUST DROP THEIR LEAVES. YOUR ASSHOLE, MY ASSHOLE, THE WORLD IS FULL OF BILLIONS OF ASSHOLES. THE PRESIDENT HAS AN ASSHOLE, THE CARWASH BOY HAS AN ASSHOLE, THE JUDGE AND THE MURDERER HAVE ASSHOLES … EVEN PURPLE STICKPIN HAS AN ASSHOLE!”

“Damn, they won’t let a man live at all, will they? They always want him at the wheel.”

“The ocean,” I said, “look at it out there, battering, crawling up and down. And underneath all that, the fish, the poor fish fighting each other, eating each other. We’re like those fish, only we’re up here. One bad move and you’re finished. It’s nice to be a champion. It’s nice to know your moves.”