In the betting line the other
day man behind me asked,
“are you Henry
Chinaski?”
“uh huh,” I answered.
“I like your books,” he went on.
“thanks,” I answered.
“who do you like in this
race?” he asked.
“uh uh,” I answered.
“I like the 4 horse,” he
told me. I made my bet and went back
to my seat….
the next race I am standing in
line and here is this same man
standing behind me again.
there are at least 50 lines at
the windows but
he has to find mine again.-
“I think this race favors the
closers,” he said to the back of
my neck. “the track looks
heavy.”
“listen,” I said, not looking
around, “it’s the kiss of death to
talk about horses at the
track…”
“what kind of rule is that?”
he asked. “God doesn’t make
rules…”
I turned around and looked at him:
“maybe not, but I do.”
after the next race
I got in line, glanced behind
me: he was not there:
lost another reader.
I lose 2 or 3 each
week. fine.
let ’em go back to Kafka.
-Charles Bukowski