...what you don't know...you don't know...

Excerpt from "About My Very Tortured Friend, Peter" from The Roominghouse Magrigals by Charles Bukowski

“look,” he said, “I’m over at this broad’s house today and

this guy walks in. a salesman. you knowhow they talk. drove up in this newcar. talked about his vacation. said he went toFrisco—saw Fidelio up there but forgot whowrote it. now this guy is 54 yearsold. so I told him: ‘Fidelio is Beethoven’s onlyopera.’ and then I toldhim: ‘you’re a jerk!’ ‘whatcha mean?’ heasked. ‘I mean, you’re a jerk, you’re 54 years old andyou don’t know anything!’”

Mine.

"Her face is a knife.  It's beautiful, sleek.  But it cuts to the core, 'She'd never have me.'  Her eyes did not have to belie the disinterest."

"You don't know that"

I point at my friend's chest as if hitting the top of a counter on a broken deal, "I do.  That's what kills me: how fast that decision is made.  Give me the benefit of a few seconds."  Again with the finger, "Not even one."

"I keep telling you: you come off with a weird vibe."

"A vibe?  How do I stop a vibe Paul.  I was born with this vibe Paul."  I mimicked an ages old conversation in my twenties.  I got the intended effect.

"You can act."

"I can't act."

"Everyone can act." 

"You want to tell that to Hollywood?  You think everyone can act?"

"You're smart."

"Oh, fat good it does me."

"You write.  Say something poetic."

I grew pensive and leaned into the bar to tip back drink no. 5.  I stay in a lane.  It was called a Golden Lion.  Vodka, calamansi, passion fruit and yuzu.  Potent.  Citrus cocktails work for me.  You add in calamansi, a very Filipino thing to do, and I'm bought and sold.  Damn these are strong.

"Paul, as sure as I'm tottering here right now, I don't believe a poem got a man anything in life."

He pursed his lips.  "Ah ha!"

"Drink your drink Jack."

Boy did I.

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