" or in bed, I'd be sound asleep and all of a sudden this hand grabbing my string and nuggets, man, sound asleep in the middle of the night, these FINGERNAILS! "AH HA! I CAUGHT YOU! I CAUGHT YOU!" "you crazy bat, the next time you do that I SWEAR I AM GOING TO KILL YOU!" "for christ's sake, go to sleep-" so this night she just sat there screaming her jackoff accusa- tions. I just sat there and drank my wine and didn't deny anything. this made her angry, angrier. and angrier. finally she couldn't stand it, all her talk about jackingoff, I mean ME supposedly jackingoff and me just sitting there smiling at her, and she jumped up and ran out the door. I let her go. I sat there and drank my wine, port. same old stuff. I thought it over, umm, umm, well. then very leisurely I got up and took the elevator down,same old feeling of power. I was not angry. I was very calm. it was just the same old war. I walked on down the street but I didn't go to her favorite bar. why repeat the same play? you are a whore; I tried to make a woman out of you. balls. after a while a man could get to sounding pretty silly. so I went to another bar and sat down on a stool near the door. I ordered a drink and took a slug, set the timing down, and then I saw her. Vicki. she was at the other end of the bar. for some reason she looked scared shitless. but I didn't go on down. I just stared at her as if I didn't know her. then I noticed something next to me in one of those old fashioned fox furs. the dead fox's head hung down over her breast looking at me. the breast looked at me. "your fox looks like it needs a drink, sweetie" I told her. "it's dead; it don't need a drink. I need a drink or I'm gonna die." well, a nice guy like me. who am I to spread death? I bought her a drink, her name, she told me, was Margy. I told her that I was Thomas Nightengale, shoesalesman. Margy. all these women with names, drinking, crapping, having monthlies. fucking men. getting folded into walls. it was too much. we had a coupla more, and already she was in her purse, flash- ing the photo of her children, an ugly demented boy and a girl without any hair, they were in some dull place in Ohio, the father had understanding. oh, one of THOSE? and he brought these women in the house and screwed them in front of her with all the lights on. "ah, I see, I see," I said. "yes, of course, most men are beasts, they simply do not understand. and you're SUCH a sweetie, what the hell, it ain't right." I suggested we go to another bar. Vicki's ass was twitching and she was half Indian. we left her there. we went around the corner. we had one around the corner. then I suggested we go to my place. do a little eating. I mean, get something to cook, bake, fry. I didn't tell her about Vicki, of course. but Vicki always prided herself on her god damned baked chickens. maybe it was because she looked like one. a baked chicken with horse teeth. so I suggested we get a chicken, bake it, bathe it in whiskey. she did not demur. so. liquor store. 5th of whiskey. 5 or 6 quarts of beer. we found an all night market. the place even had a butcher. "we wanta bake a chicken," I said. "oh, christ," he said. I dropped one of the quarts of beer. it really exploded. "christ," he said. I dropped another to see what he would say. "oh, jesus," he said. "I want THREE CHICKENS," I said. "THREE CHICKENS?" "jesus christ, yes," I said. the butcher reached in and got three very white-yellow chick- ens with a few long black unplucked hairs that looked like human hairs on them and he wrapped them all up a big big bundle, all in pink tough paper with this real gripping tape, and I paid him and we got out of there. I dropped 2 more quarts of beer on the way. I rode up the elevator, feeling my power rising. when we got inside my door I lifted Margy's dress to see what was holding her stockings up. then I gave her a big chummy whiskey-goose with long-finger right hand. she screamed and dropped the big pink bun- dle. it fell on the rug and the 3 chickens came out. those 3 chickens, all white-yellow with their 29 or 30 drooling dropping murdered human hairs sticking to them looked very strange gaping there on that worn rug of yellow and brown flowers and trees and Chinese dragons, under electric lights in los angeles at the end of the world near 6th street under Union. "oooh, the chickens." "fuck the chickens." her garter belt was dirty. it was perfect. I goosed her again. well, shit, so I sat down and peeled the whiskey bottle, poured a couple of tall waterglasses full, took off my shoes stockings pants shirt, took one of her cigarettes. sat in my underwear. I always do that, right away. I like to be comfortable.. if the broad don't like it, fuck her. she can go. but they always stay. I got a manner. some broads say I should have been a king. others say other things. fuck 'em. she drank most of her drink and started for her purse. "I have some children in Ohio. they're lovely children-" "forget that. we've been through that stage. tell me, do you suck dick?" "what do you mean?" "OH, BALLS!" I smashed my glass against the wall. then I got another one, filled it up, and we drank some more. I don't know how long we worked on the whiskey but it must have gotten to me because the next thing I know I was laying on the bed naked. staring up at the electric light and Margy was standing there naked and she was rubbing my penis quite rapidly with her fox fur. and while she was rubbing she was saying over and over, "I am going to fuck you, I am going to fuck you-" "listen," I said. "I don't know if you can fuck me. I jacked-off in the elevator earlier this evening. I think it was about 8 o'clock." "I will fuck you anyhow." she really speeded up that fox fur. it was all right. maybe I could get one for myself. I once knew a guy who put raw liver in a long drinking glass and screwed that. me, I didn't like to stick my thing into anything that could break or slice. imagine going to a doctor with a bloody cock and saying it happened while screwing a water glass. once while I was bumming in a small town in Texas I saw this well-built wonderful fuck of a young broad married to this little shriveled up old dwarf with a nasty disposition and some kind of malady that made him trembly all over. she supported him and pushed him around in a wheelchair, and I used to think of him pouncing on all that good meat. I'd get a picture of it, you know, and then finally I got the story. when she had been a younger girl she had gotten this coke bottle stuck all the way into her snatch and just couldn't get the thing out and had to go to a doctor. he got it out, and somehow the story got out. she was ruined in that town after that, and didn't have sense enough to get out. nobody wanted her except the nasty dwarf with the shakes. he didn't give a damn - he had the best piece of ass in town. where was I? oh, yeah. her fox fur went faster and faster and I finally got something going just as I heard a key go into the door. oh, shit, it was probably Vicki! well, it's simple, I thought. I'll just boot her ass out and go about my business. the door opened and there stood Vicki with 2 cops standing behind her. "GET THAT WOMAN OUT OF MY HOUSE!" she screamed. COPS! I couldn't believe it. I pulled the sheet over my pulsa- ting and throbbing and giant sexual organ and pretended to be asleep. it looked like I had a cucumber under there. Margy was screaming back: "I know you, Vicki, this ain't your god damned house! this guy EARNS his way by licking your asshole hairs! he gets you babbling to heaven in Morse code with that long sandpaper tongue of his, you're nothing but a WHORE, a true blue turdy-gulping 2-dollar whore. and THAT went out with Franky D., and you were 48 THEN!" hearing that, my cucumber went down. both of these broads must have been 80 years old. singly, that is, together they might have reached back to suck-off Abe Lincoln, something like that. suck-off General Robert E. Lee, Patrick Henry. Mozart. Dr. Samuel Johnson. Robespierre. Napoleon. Machiavelli? wine preserves. God endures. the whores blow on. and Vicki screamed back: "WHO'S A WHORE? WHO'S A WHORE, HUH? YOU'RE A WHORE, THAT'S WHO! YOU'VE BEEN SELLING THAT CLAPPED HOLE OF YOURS UP AND DOWN ALVARADO STREET FOR 30 YEARS! A BLIND RAT WOULD BACK UP 4 TIMES IF HE RAN INTO THERE ONCE! AND YOU HOLLERING 'POW! POW!' WHEN YOU'RE LUCKY ENOUGH TO GET A GUY TO COME! AND THAT WENT OUT WHEN CONFUCIUS FUCKED HIS MOTHER!" "WHY YOU CHEAP BITCH. YOU'VE GIVEN OUT MORE BLUE BALLS THAN A SILVER CHRISTMAS TREE IN DISNEY- LAND. WHY YOU-" "listen, ladies," said one of the cops. "I will have to ask you to watch your remarks and lower the volume. understanding and kind- ness are the keynotes of Democratic thought. oh, I just DO love the way Bobby Kennedy wears that tickling blobbing knot of raunchy hair over one side of his darling head don't you just?" "why you fuckin' queer," said Margy, "is that why you wear them tight pants, to make your asshole sweeter? god, it DOES look NICE! I'd kinda like to do you in myself. I see you shits bending over into car windows giving out tickets on the freeways and I always feel like pinching your tight little asses." the cop suddenly got a brilliant flare in his dead eyes, he unhitched his club and tapped Margy along the side of the neck with it. she fell to the floor. then he slipped the bracelets on her. I could hear those clicks, and the bastards ALWAYS snapped them too tight. but they felt almost GOOD once you got them on. kind of forceful and heavy and you felt like Christ or something dramatic. I kept my eyes closed so I couldn't see whether they threw a robe or something over her. then the cop who snapped the bracelets said to the other cop, "I'll take her on the elevator. we'll go on the elevator." and I couldn't hear very well, but I listened as they went down, and I heard Margy screaming, "oooooh, oooooooh, you bas- tard. let go of me, let go of me!" and he kept saying, "shut up, shut up, shut up! you're only getting what you deserve! and you haven't seen ANYTHING yet! this-is just the-beginning!" then she really screamed. then the other cop walked over to me. through one narrowed eye I could see him put his big black shiny shoe up on the mattress, up on the sheet. he looked down at me. "is this guy a fag? he looks like a fag, sure as hell." "I don't' THINK he is. he might be. he can sure ball a broad, though." "you want me to run him in?" he asked Vicki. I had my eyes closed. it was a long wait. god, it was a long wait. that big foot there on my sheets. the electric light shining down. then she spoke. finally. "no, he's-.o.k. leave him there." the cop took his foot down. I heard him walk across the room, then wait at the door. he spoke to Vicki: "I'm going to have to charge you 5 bucks more for your protection next month. you're getting a bit harder to watch out for." then he was gone. I mean, out into the hall. I waited for him to get into the elevator. I heard it go down to the first floor. I counted to 64. then, I LEAPED OUT OF BED. my nostrils were flaring like Gregory Peck in heat. "YOU ROTTEN BITCH. YOU EVER DO THAT AGAIN AND I'M GOING TO KILL YOU!" "NO, NO, NO!!!" I raised my hand to give her the old backhand. "I TOLD HIM NOT TO TAKE YOU!" she screamed at me. "ummm. that's right. I've got to consider that." I lowered my hand. then there was some whiskey left and some wine too. I got up and put the chain on the door. we turned off the lights and sat there and drank and smoked and talked about things. this, and that, easy and casual, then, like old times, we looked at the same red horse that flew and flew in red neon on the side of a building just downtown to our east. it flew and flew on the side of this building all night. no matter what happened. you know what it was, a kind of red horse with red wings of neon. but I told you that. a winged horse. anyhow, like always, we count- ed: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven. the wings always flapped 7 times. then the horse, everything, stood still, then, it started again. our whole apartment would be in this red glow. then when the horse stopped flying, somehow things would get white for a flash. I don't know why. I think that it was caused by an advertisement beneath the red winged horse. it said, some kind of product, buy this or buy that, in this WHITE. anyhow. we sat and talked and drank and smoked. later we went to bed together. she kissed very nicely, her tongue was kind of an apologetic sadness. then we fucked. we fucked as the red horse flew. 7 times the wings flapped.. and in the center of the rug the 3 chickens were still there. watching. the chickens turned red, the chickens turned white. 14 times they turned red. then they turned white. 21 times they turned red. then they turned white. 28 times- it had ended a better night than most. === 3women we lived right across from McArthur park, Linda and I, and one night while drinking we saw a man's body fall past our window. it was an odd sight, something like a joke, but it wasn't any joke when his body hit the pavement. "jesus christ," I told Linda, "he plopped right apart like an old tomato! we are just made of guts and shit and slimy stuff!come 'ere! come 'ere! look at 'im!" Linda came to the window, then ran to the bathroom and vomited. she came out. I turned and looked at her. "honest ta christ, baby, he's just like a big spilled bowl of rotten meat and spaghetti, dressed in a ripped suit and shirt!" Linda ran back in and heaved again. I sat and drank the wine. soon I heard the siren. what they really needed was the Sanitation Dept. well, what the fuck, we all had our troubles. I never knew where our rent was coming from and we were too sick from drinking to look for work. everytime we worried, all we could do about our worries was to fuck. that made us forget for a while. we fucked a lot, and lucky for me, Linda was a good lay.that whole hotel was full of people like us, drinking wine and fucking and not knowing what next.now and then one of them jumped out of the window.but the money always seemed to arrive for us from somewhere, just when all seemed like we'd have to eat our own shit, once $300 from a dead uncle, another time, a delayed, income tax refund. another time I was riding on a bus and on the seat in front of me where these 50 cent pieces. what it meant or who had done it, I didn't know, still don't understand. I moved one seat up and began stuffing the half bucks into my pockets. when the pockets got full, I pulled the cord and got off at the next stop. nobody said anything or tried to stop me. I mean, when you're drunk, you've got to be lucky, even if you're not one, you've got to be lucky. part of each day we would spend in the park looking at the ducks. you've got to believe me, that when your health is down from continual drinking and lack of decent food, and you're tired of fucking while trying to forget, you can't beat the ducks. I mean, you've got to get out of your place, because you can get the deep blue blues and it soon might be you out the window. it is easier to do than you might imagine. so Linda and I would sit on a bench and watch the ducks. the ducks didn't worry worth a damn - no rent, no clothes, plenty of food - just float around shitting and quacking. nobbling, nibbling, eating all the time. once in a while one of those from the hotel would catch a duck at night, kill the thing, take it to their room, clean it and cook it. we thought about it but never did it. besides they were very hard to catch; you just get so close and SLUUUSH!!! a spray of water and the motherfuckers would be gone! most of the time we ate small pancakes made of flour and water, or now and then we would steal some corn from somebody's garden - one guy specialized in a corn garden - I don't believe he got to eat a one of them, then there was always a bit of stealing from an outdoor market - I mean there was a vegetable stand in front of a grocery - store - this meant an occasional tomato or two or a small cucumber, but we were petty thieves, small time, and we needed mostly luck. the cigarettes were easiest - a walk at night - somebody always left a car window down and a pack or half-pack of smokes on the dash- board. of course, the wine and the rent were the real problems and we fucked and worried about it. and like all the days of final desperation, ours arrived. no more wine, no more luck, no more anything. no more credit with the landlady or the liquor store. I decided to set the alarm clock for 5:30 a. m. and walk down to the Farm Labor Market, but even the clock didn't work right. it had broken and I had opened it to repair it. it was a broken spring and the only way I could get the spring to work again was to break a portion of it off, hook it up again, lock up the works and wind it up. now if you want to know what a short spring does to an alarm clock or I guess any kind of clock, I'll tell you. the shorter the spring is, the faster the minute and hour hands go around. it was some crazy clock, I'll tell you, and when we were worn out with fucking to stop from worrying we used to watch that clock and try to tell what time it really was. you could see that minute hand moving - we used to laugh at it. then one day - it took us a week to figure it - we found that the clock moved thirty hours for each actual twelve hours of time also it had to be wound every 7 or 8 hours or it would stop. some- times we'd wake up and look at the clock and wonder what time it was. "well, shit, baby," I'd say, "can't you figure out the thing? the clock moves 2 and one half times as fast as it should. it's simple." "yeah, but what time did it say when we last set the clock?" she'd ask. "damned if I know, baby, I was drunk." "well, you better wind it or it'll stop." "o.k." I'd wind it, then we'd fuck. so the morning I decided to go to the Farm Labor Market I couldn't set the clock. we got hold of a bottle of wine from some- where and drank it slowly. I watched that clock, not knowing what it meant, and being afraid of missing the early morning, I just lay in bed and didn't sleep all night. then I got up, dressed and walked around waiting. there were quite a few tomatoes lying in the win- dows and I picked up two or 3 of them and ate them. there was a large blackboard: COTTENPICKERS NEEDED FOR BAKERS- FIELD. FOOD AND LODGING. what the hell was that? cotton in Bakersfield, Calif? I thought Eli Whitney and the cotton gin had put all that out of the way. then a big truck drove up and it turned out they needed tomato-pickers. well, shit, I hated to leave Linda in that bed all alone like that. she could never stay in bed too long alone by herself like that. but I decided to try it. everybody started climbing into the truck. I waited and made sure that all the ladies were on board, and there were some big ones. everybody was in, and then I started to crawl up. a large Mexican, evidently the foreman, started putting in the tailgates - "sorry, senor, full up!" they drove off without me. it was almost 9 p.m. by then and the walk back to the hotel took an hour. I passed all the well-dressed stupid-looking people and was almost run over once by an angry man in a black Caddy. I don't know what he was angry about. maybe the weather. it was a hot day. when I got back to the hotel I had to walk up the stairway because the elevator was right by the landlady's door and she was always fucking with the elevator, shining the brass, or just plain-ass snooping. it was 6 floors up and when I got there, I heard laughing from my room. that bitch Linda hadn't waited too long to get started. well, I'd whip her ass and his too. I opened the door. it was Linda and Jeanie and Eve. "Sweetie!" said Linda, she came up to me. she was all dressed in highheels. she gave me a lot of tongue when she kissed. "Jeanie just got her first unemployment check and Eve is on the dole! we're celebrating!" there was plenty of port wine. I went in and took a bath and then came out in my shorts. I always like to show off my legs. I had the biggest most powerful legs I had ever seen on any man. the rest of me wasn't too much. I sat in my torn shorts and put my legs up on the coffee table. "shit! look at those legs!" said Jeanie. "yeah, yeah," said Eve. Linda smiled. I was poured a wine. you know how such things go. we drank and talked, talked and drank. the girls went out for more bottles. more talk. the clock went round and round. soon it was dark. I was drinking alone, still in my torn shorts. Jeanie had gone to the bedroom and passed out in the bed. Eve had passed out on the couch and Linda had passed out on a smaller leather couch in the hall that led to the bathroom. I still couldn't understand that Mexican closing those tailgates on me. I was unhappy. I went into the bedroom and got into bed with Jeanie. she was a large woman, and naked. I began kissing on her breasts, sucking at them. "hey, what you doing?" "doin? I'm going to fuck you!" I put my finger into her cunt and moved it back and forth. "I'm going to fuck you!" "no! Linda would kill me!" "she'll never know!" I mounted and then very SLOWLY SLOWLY QUIETLY so the springs wound not rattle, so there would not be a sound. I slid it in and out in and out EVER SO SLOWLY and when I came I thought I would never stop. it was one of the best fucks of my life. as I wiped off on the sheets the thought occurred to me - it could be that Man has been fucking improperly for centuries. then I went, sat down in the dark, drank some more. I don't remember how long I sat there. I drank quite a bit. then I went over to Eve. Eve of the dole. she was a fat thing, a little wrinkled, but had very sexy lips, obscene sexy ugly lips. I began kissing that terrible and beautiful mouth. she didn't protest at all. she opened her legs and I entered. she was a little female pig, farting and grunting and sniffling, wiggling, when I came it wasn't like with Jeanie - long and trembling - it was just splot splot and then over. I got off. and before I could get back to my chair I could hear her snoring again. amazing - she fucked like she breathed - nothing to it. each woman fucked just a bit differently, and that's what kept a man going, that's what kept a man trapped. I sat and drank some more thinking of what that dirty son of a bitch in control of the tailgqate had done to me. it didn't pay to be polite. then I began to think about the dole. could an unmarried man and woman get on the dole? of course not. they were supposed to starve to death. and love was a kind of dirty word. but that was something of what it was between Linda and I - love. that's why we starved together, drank together, lived together. what did marriage mean? marriage meant a sanctified FUCK and a sanctified FUCK that's what the world wanted: some poor son of a bitch, trapped and unhappy, with a job to do. well, shit, I'd move down to skidrow and move Linda in with Big Eddie. Big Eddie was an idiot but at least he'd buy her some clothes and put some steaks in her belly which was more than I was able to do. Elephant Legs Bukowski, the social failure. I finished off the bottle and decided I needed some sleep. I wound up the alarm clock and crawled in with Linda. she awakened and began rubbing up against me. "oh shit, oh shit," she said, "I don't know what's the matter with me!" "whatza matta, baby? you sick?you want me to call the Gen- Eral Hospital?" "oh no, shit, I'm just HOT! HOT! I'M SO HOT!" "what?" "I said, I'm burning up hot! FUCK ME!" "Linda-" "what? what?" "I'm so tired. no sleep for two nights. that long walk to the Labor Market and back, 32 blocks in the hot sun-useless. no job. fucking-ass tired." "I'll HELP you!" "whatcha mean?" she crawled halfway down the couch and began licking at my penis. I groaned in wearinesss. "honey, 32 blocks in the hot sun- I'm burned out." she kept working. she had a sandpaper tongue and knew what to do with it. "honey," I told her, "I'm a social zero! I don't deserve you! please relent!" like I say, she was good. some can, some can't. most just know the old-time headbob. Linda began with the penis, lift off, went to the balls, then off the balls, back to the penis again, barberpole, a wonderful amount of energy. ALWAYS LEAVING THE HEAD OF THE COCK, ITSELF, UNTOUCHED. finally, she had me moaning to the ceiling telling her all various sorts of lies about what I would do for her when I finally got my ass straightened out and stopped being a bum. then she came and took the head, put her mouth about a third of the way down, gave this little nip-suck of tooth pressure on, the wolf-nip and I came AGAIN - which made four times that night and I was completely done. some women know more than medical sci- ence. when I awakened they were all up and dressed - looking good - Linda, Jeanie and Eve. they poked at me under the covers, laugh- ing. "hey, Hank, we're going down to look for a live one! and we need an eye opener! we'll be down at Tommi-Hi's!" "o.k., o.k., goodbye!" they all left, wiggling out the door. all Mankind was doomed forever. I was just about asleep when the extension phone rang. "yeah?" Mr. Bukowski?" "yeah?" "I saw those women! they came from your room!" "how do you know? you have 8 floors and about ten or twelve rooms to a floor." "I know all my roomers, Mr. Bukowski! we have all respec- table working people here!" "yeah?" "yes, Mr. Bukowski. I've been running this place for twenty years and never, never have I seen such goings on as at your place! we've always had respectable people here, Mr. Bukowski." "yes, they're so respectable that every two weeks some son of a bitch climbs up onto the roof and takes a header straight into your cement entranceway between those phony potted plants." "you've got until noon to get out, Mr. Bukowski!" "what time is it now?" "8 a.m." "thank you." I hung up. found an alka-seltzer, drank it out of a dirty glass. then found a touch of wine. I opened the curtains and looked out at the sun. it was a hard world, no news there, but I hated skidrow. I like little rooms, little places to make some kind of fight from. a woman, a drink, but no day by day job. I couldn't put it together. I was not clever enough. I thought of jumping out the window but couldn't do it. I got dressed and went down to Tommi-Hi's. the girls were laughing down at the end of the bar with two guys. Marty the bartender knew me. I waved him off. no money. I sat there. a scotch and water arrived in front of me. a note. "meet me at the Roach Hotel, room 12, at midnight. I'll have the room for us. love, Linda." I drank the drink, got out of the way, tried the Roach Hotel at Midnight. the desk clerk said, "nothing doing. no room 12 reserved for a Bukowski." I came at one a.m. I'd been in the park all day, all night, sitting. same thing. "no room 12 reserved for you, sir." "any room reserved for m under that name or under the name of Linda Bryan?" "nothing sir." "do you mind if I look into room 12?" "there's nobody there, sir. I told you, sir." "I'm in love, man. I'm sorry. please let me have a look!" he gave me one of those looks reserved for 4th class idiots, tossed me the doorkey. "be back within 5 minutes or you're in trouble." I opened the door, switched on the lights - "Linda!" - the roaches, seeing the light, all ran back under the wallpaper. there were thousands of them. when I put out the light you could hear them all crawling back out. the wallpaper, itself, seemed to be just a large roachskin. I took the elevator back down to the desk clerk. "thanks," I said, "you were right. nobody in room 12." for the first time his voice seemed to take on some kind of kindness. "I'm sorry, man." "thanks," I said. when I got outside the hotel I turned left, which was east, which was skidrow, and as my feet moved me slowly toward there I won- dered, why do people lie? now I no longer wonder but I still remem- ber, and now when they lie I almost know about it while they are doing it, but I'm stil lnot as wise as that desk clerk in the roach hotel who knew that the lie was everywhere, or the people who dove past my window while I was drinking port on warm afternoons in Los Angeles across from McArthur park, where they still catch, kill, eat the ducks, and, the people. the hotel is still there and the room we stayed in and if you care to come by some day I will show it to you. but there's hardly sense in that, is there? let's just say that one night I fucked or got fucked by 3 women. and let that be story enough. === The Gut Wringing Machine Danforth hung the bodies up one by one after they had been wrung through the wringer. Bagley sat by the phones. "how many we got?" "19, looks like a good day." "shit, yeah, yeah. that sounds like a good day. how many did we place yesterday?" "14." "fair, fair. we-ll make it good if the way keeps up. I keep worrying they might quit the thing in Viet," said Bagley of the phones. "don-t be foolish - too many people profit depend on that war." "but the Paris Peace Conference-" "you just ain-t yourself today, Bag. you know they just sit around and laugh all day, draw their pay and then make the Paree nightclubs each night. those boys are living good. they don-t want the Peace Conference to end anymore than we want the war to end. we-re all getting fat, and not a scratch. It-s sweet. and if they settle the thing somehow by accident, there-ll be others. they keep hot points glowing all over the globe." "yeah, I guess I worry too much." one of the three phones on the desk rang. Bagley picked it up. "SATISFACTORY HELP AGENCY. Bagley speaking." he listened. "yeh, yeh. we got a good cost accountant. salary? $300 the first two weeks, I mean a week. we get the first two weeks- pay. then cut him to 50 a week or fire him. If you fire him after the first two weeks, we give YOU one hundred dollars. why? well, hell, don-t you see, the whole idea is to keep things moving. It- s all psychological, like Santa Claus. when? yeah, we-ll send him right over. what-s the address? fine, fine, he-ll be there pronto, remember all the terms. we send him with a contract. bye." Bagley hung up. hummed to himself, underlined the address. "get one down, Danforth, a tired, thin one, no use shipping out the best on the first shot." Danforth walked over to the wire clothesline and took the clamps off the fingers of a tired, thin one. "walk him over here. what-s his name?" "Herman. Herman Telleman." "shit, he don-t look so good. looks like he still got a little blood in him, and I can see some color in his eye-I think. listen, Danforthm you got these wringers running good and tight? I want all the guts squeezed out, no resistance at all, you understand? you do your job and I-ll do mine." "some of these guys came in pretty tough, some men have more guts than others, you know that. you can-t always tell by looking." "all right, let-s try him. Herman. hey, sonny!" "what-s up pops?" "how-d you like a nice little job?" "ah, hell no!" "what? you don-t want a nice little job?" "what the fuck for? my old man, he was from Jersey, he worked all his damn life and after that we buried him with his own money, ya know what he had left?" "what?" "15 cents and the end of a drab dull life." "but don-t you want a wife, a family, a home, respectability" a new car every 3 years?" "I don-t want no grind, daddy-o, don-t put me in no flip-out cage. I just want to laze around. what the shit." "Danforth, run this bastard through the wringer and make those screws tight!" Danforth grabbed the subject but not before Telleman yelled "up your old mother-s bunghole-" "and squeeze ALL THE GUTS OUT OF HIM, ALL OF THE GUTS! do you hear me?" "aw right, aw right!" answered Danforth. "shit, sometimes I think you got the easy end of the stick!" "forget sticks! squeeze the guts out of him. Nixon might end the war-" "there you go talking that nonsense again! I don-t think you been sleeping good, Bagley. something wrong with you." "yeah, yeah, you-re right! insomnia. I keep thinking we should be making soldiers! I toss all night! what a business that would be!" "Bag, we do the best with what we can, that-s all." "aw right, aw right, you run him through the wringer yet?" Danforth brought Herman Telleman back. he did look a bit different. all the color was gone from his eyes and he had on this utterly false smile. it was beautiful. "Herman?" asked Bagley. "yes, sir?" "what do you feel? or how do you feel?" "I don-t feel anything, sir." "you like cops?" "not cops, sir - policemen. they are the victims of our vicious- ness even though they at times protect us by shooting us, jailing us, beating us and fining us. There is no such thing as a bad cop. Police- man, pardon me. do you realize that if there were no policemen, we-d have to take the law into our own hands?" "and then what would happen?" "I never thought of that, sir." "excellent, do you believe in God?" "oh, yes sir, in God and Family and State and Country and honest labor." "jesus christ!" "what, sir?" "sorry, now, here, do you like overtime on a job?" "oh, yes sir! I would like to work 7 days a week if possible, and 2 jobs if possible." "why?" "money, sir, money for color tv, new autos, down payment on a home, silk pajamas, 2 dogs, an electric shave, life insurance, medi- cal insurance, oh all kinds of insurance and college educations for my children if I have children and automatic doors on the garage and fine clothes and 45 dollar shoes, and cameras, wrist watches, rings, washers, refrigerators, new chairs, new beds, wall-to-wall carpeting, donations to the church, thermostat heating and-" "all right. stop. when are you going to use all this stuff?" "I don-t understand, sir." "I mean, when you are working night and day and overtime, when are you going to enjoy these luxuries?" "oh, there-ll be a day, there-ll be a day, sir!" "and you don-t think your kids will grow up some day and just think of you as an asshole?" "after I-ve worked my fingers to the bone for them, sir! of course not!" "excellent. now just a few more questions." "yes, sir." "don-t you think that all this constant drudgery is harmful to the health and the spirit, the soul, if you will-?" "oh hell, if I weren-t working all the time I-d just be sitting around drinking or making oil paintings or fucking or going to the circus or sitting in the park watching the ducks. things like that." "don-t you think sitting around in the park watching the ducks is nice?" "I can-t make any money that way, sir." "o.k., fuck-off." "sir?" "I mean, I-m through talking to you." "o.k., this one-s ready. Dan. fine job. give him the contract, make him sign it, he won-t read the fine print. he thinks we-re nice. trot him down to the address. they-ll take him. I ain-t sent out a better cost accountant in months." "Danforth had Herman sign the contract, checked his eyes again to make sure that they were dead, put the contract and the address in his hand, led him to the door and gave him a gentle push down the stairway. Bagley just leaned back with an easy smile of success and watched Danforth run the other 18 through the wringer. where the guts went it was hard to see but almost every man lost his guts somewhere along the line. the ones labeled: "married with family" or "over 40" lost their guts easiest. Bagley leaned back as Danforth ran them through the wringer, he heard them talking: "it-s hard for a man as old as I am to get a job, oh, it-s so hard!" "another one said:: "oh, baby, it-s cold outside." another: "I get tired of booking and pimping, getting busted, busted, busted. I need something secure, secure, secure, secure, secure-" another: "all right, I-ve had my fun, now-" another: "I don-t have a trade. every man should have a trade. I don-t have a trade. what am I going to do?" another: "I-ve been all over the world - in the army - I know things." another: "if I had it to do all over again, I-d be a dentist or a barber." another: "all my novels and short stories and poems keep coming back. Shit, I can-t go to New York and shake the hands of the publishers! I have more talent than anybody but you-ve got to have the inside! I-ll take any kind of job but I am better than any kind of job that I take because I am a genius." another: "see how pretty I am? look at my nose? look at my ears? look at my hair? my skin? the way I act! see how pretty I am? see how pretty I am? see how pretty I am? why doesn-t anybody like me? because I-m so pretty. they-re jealous, jealous, jealous-" the phone rang again. "SATISFACTORY HELP AGENCY. Bagley speaking. you what? you need a deep-sea diver? motherfucker! what? oh, pardon. sure, sure, we got dozens of unemployed deep-sea divers. his first 2 weeks- pay is ours. 500 a week, dangerous, you know, really danger- ous - barnacles, crabs, all that- seaweed, maidens on rocks. octu- pi, bends. head-colds. fuck, yes. first 2 weeks- pay is ours. if you fire him after 2 weeks we give you $200. why? why? if a robin laid an egg of gold in your front room chair would you ask WHY? would you? we-ll send you a deep-sea diver in 45 minutes! the address? fine, fine, ah, yes, fine, that-s near the Richfield Building. yes, I know. 45 minutes. thank you. goodbye." Bagley hung up. he was tried already and the day was just beginning. "Dan?" "yeah, mother?" "bring me a deep-sea diver type. bit fat around the belly. blue eyes, medium hair on chest, balding before his time, slightly stoical, cancer of the throat. that-s a deep-sea diver. anybody knows what a deep-sea diver is. now bring one, mother." "o.k., shithead." Bagley yawned. Danforth unclamped one. brought him forth, stood him before the desk.. his tag said, "Barney Anderson." "hello, Barney," said Bag. "where am I?" asked Barney. "SATISFACTORY HELP AGENCY." "boy, if you two ain-t a couple of greasy-looking mother- fuckers, I ain-t never ever seen none!" "what the fuck, Dan!" "I ran him through 4 times." "I told you to tighten those screws!" "and I told you some men have more guts than others!" "it-s all a myth, you damn fool!" "who-s a damn fool?" "you-re both damn fools," said Barney Anderson. "I want you to run his ass through the wringer three times," said Bagley. "o.k., o.k., but first let-s you and me get straight." "aw right, for instance-ast this Barney guy who his heroes are." "Barney, hoose yr herows?" "well, lemme see - Cleaver, Dillinger, Che, Malcolm X, Gandhi, Jersey Joe Walcott, Grandma Barker, Castro, Van Gogh, Villon, Hemingway." "ya see, he i-dentifies with all LOSERS. that makes him feel good. he-s getting ready to lose. we-re going to help him. he-s been conned on this soul-shit and that-s how we get their asses, there ain-t no soul. it-s all con. there ain-t no heroes. it-s all con. there ain-t no winners - it-s all con and horseshit. there ain-t no saints, there ain- t no genius - that-s all con and fairytale, it makes the game go. each man jut tries to hang on and be lucky - if he can. all else is bullshit." "aw right, aw right, I dig your losers! but what about Castro? he looked pretty fat, last photo I saw of him." "he subsists because the U.S. and Russia have decided to leave him in the middle. but suppose they really put the pack on the deck? what can he draw to? man, he don-t hold enough chips to get into a decaying Egyptian whorehouse." "fuck you two guys! I like who I like!" said Barney Anderson. "Barney, when a man gets old enough, trapped enough, hun- gry enough, weary enough - he-ll suck dick, tit, eat shit to stay alive; either that or suicide. the human race ain-t got it, man. it-s a bad crowd." "so we-re gonna change it, man. that-s the trick. if we can make it to the moon we can clean the shit out of the shitbowl, we just been concentrating on the wrong things." "you-re sick, kid, and a little fat around the belly. and balding. Dan, shape him up." Danforth took Barney Anderson and rang and wrung and screamed him through the wringer three times, then brought him back. "Barney?" asked Bagley. "yes sir!" "Who are your heroes?" "George Washington, Bob Hope, Mae West. Richard Nixon, the bones of Clark Gable and all the nice people I-ve seen at Disney- land. Joe Louis, Dinah Shore, Frank Sinatra, Babe Ruth, the Green Berets, hell the whole United States Army and Navy and especially the Marine Corps, and even the Treasury Dept., the CIA, the FBI, United Fruit, the highway Patrol, the whole god damned L.A. Police Dept., and the County Cops too. and I don-t mean -cops,- I mean -policemen.- then there-s Marlene Dietrich, with this slit up the side of her dress, she must be near 70 now? - dancing up at Vegas, my dick got big, what a wonderful woman. the good American life and the good American money can keep us young forever, don-t you see?" "Dan?" "yeah, Bag?" "this one-s really ready! I ain-t got much feeling left, but he even makes me sick. make him sign his little contract and send him out. they-ll love him. god, what a man-s gotta do to just stay alive. sometimes I even hate my own job. that-s bad, ain-t it, Dan?" ******* "sure, Bag, and as soon as I send this asshole on his way, I got just the little thing for you - a touch of the good ol- tonic." "ah, fine, fine-what is it?" "just a little quarter-turn through the wringer." "WHAT?" "oh, it-s fine for the blues or for extemporaneous thinking stuff like that." "will it work?" "it beats aspirin." "o.k., get rid of the asshole." Barney Anderson was sent down the stairway. Bagley got up and walked toward the nearest wringer. "these old gals - West and Dietrich, still flashing tits and legs, hell t don-t make sense, they were doing that when I was 6 years old." "nuttin-. stretchers, girdles, powder, lights, false flesh cover- ings, padding, pudding, straw, horseshit, they could make your grandmother look like a 16 year old." "my grandmother-s dead." "they could still do it." "yeah, yeah, I guess you-re right." Bagley walked toward the wringer. "just a quarter turn now. can I trust you?" "you-re my partner, ain-t you, Bag?" "sure, Dan." "how long we been in business together?" "25 years." "so, o.k., when I say a QUARTER-TURN, I mean a QUAR- TER-TURN." "whatta I do?" "just slip your hands in the rollers, it-s like a washing ma- chine." "in there?" "yeah, here we go! whoopee!" "hey, man, remember, just a quarter of a turn." "sure, Bag, don-t you trust me?" "I gotta now." "you know, I been fucking your wife on the sly." "you rotten son of a bitch! I-ll kill you!" Danforth left the machine running, sat down behind Bagley-s desk, lit a cigarette. he hummed a little tune, "lucky lucky me, I can live in luxury, because I-ve got a pocket full of dreams-I-ve got a pocketful of dreams-" he got up and walked over to the machine and Bagley. "you said a quarter-turn," said Bagley. "it-s been a turn and a half." "don-t you trust me?" "more than ever, somehow." "still, I been fucking your wife on the sly." "well, I guess it-s all right. I get tired of fucking her. every man gets tired of fucking his own wife." "but I want you to want me to fuck your wife." "well, I don-t care but I don-t know if I exactly want you to." "I-ll be back in about 5 minutes." Danforth went back, sat in Bagley-s swivel chair, put his feet up on the desk and waited. he liked to sing. he sang songs: "I got plenty of nuthin- and nuthin-s plenty for me. I got the stars, I got the sun, I got the shining sea-" Danforth smoked two cigarettes and went back to the machine. "Bag, I been fucking your wife on the sly." "oh, I want you to, man! I want you to! and ya know what?" "what?" I-d kinda like to watch." "sure, that-d be o.k." Danforth went to the phone, dialed a number. "Minnie? yeah, Dan. I-m comin- over ta fuck ya again. Bag? oh, he-s comin- too. he wants ta watch. no, we-re not drunk. I just decided to close shop for the day. we-ve made it already. with the Israel-Arab thing and all the African wars, there-s nothing to worry about. Biafra is a beautiful word. anyhow, we-re coming over. I want to bunghole you. you got those big cheeks, jesus. I might even bunghole Bag. I think his cheeks are bigger than yours. keep tight, sweetie, we-re on our way!" Dan hung up. another phone rang. he picked it up. "jam it you rotten motherfucker, even the points of your tits smell like wet dogturds in a Westerly wind." he hung up and smiled. walked over and took Bagley out of the machine. they locked the office door and walked down the steps together. when they walked outside the sun was up and looking good. you could see through the thin skirts of the women. you could almost see their bones. death and rot was everywhere. it was Los Angeles, near 7th and Broadway, the inter- section where the dead snubbed the dead and didn-t even know why it was a taught game like jumprope or dissecting frogs or pissing in the mailbox or jacking-off your pet dog. "we got plenty a nuthin-," they sang, "and nuthin-s plenty for we-" arm and arm they made the underground garage, found Bag-s 69 Caddy, got in, each lit a dollar cigar, Dan driving, got it out of there, almost hit a bum coming out of Pershing Square, turned West toward the freeway, toward freedom, Vietnam, the army, fucking large areas of grass and nude statues and French wine, Beverly Hills- Bagley leaned over and ran down Danforth-s zipper as he drove. I hope he leaves some for his wife, Danforth thought. it was a warm Los Angeles morning, or maybe it was after- noon, he checked the dashboard clock - it read 11:37 a.m. just as he came. he ran the Caddy up to 80. the asphalt slipped underneath like the graves of the dead. he turned on the dash t.v., then reached for the telephone, then remembered to zip up. "Minnie, I love you." "I love you too, Dan," she answered. "is that slob with you?" "right beside me. he just caught a mouthful." "oh, Dan, don-t waste it!" he laughed and hung up. they almost hit a nigger in a pickup truck. he wasn-t black at all, he was a nigger, that-s all he was. there wasn-t a nicer city in the world when you had it made, and only one worse when you didn-t have it made - the Big A. Danforth hit it up to 85. a motorcycle smiled at him as he drove by. maybe he-d call Bob later that night. Bob was always so funny. his 12 writers always gave him those good lines. and Bob was just as natural as horseshit. it was wonderful! he threw out the dollar cigar, lit another, ran the Caddy up to 90, straight at the sun like an arrow, business was good and life, and the tires whirled over the dead and the dying and the dying-to-be. ZYAAAAAUUUUM! === THE FUCK MACHINE it was a hot night in Tony's. you didn't even think of fucking. just drink cool beer. Tony coasted a couple down to me and Indian Mike, and Mike had the money out. I let him buy the first round. Tony rang it up, bored, looked around - 5 or six others staring into their beers, dolts, so Tony walked down to us. "what's new, Tony?" I asked. "ah, shit," said Tony. "at ain't new." "shit," said Tony. "ah, shit," said Indian Mike. we drank at our beers. "what do you think of the moon?" I asked Tony. "shit," said Tony. "yeah," said Indian Mike, "guy's an asshole on earth he's an asshole on the moon, makes no difference." "they say there's probably no life on Mars," I said. "so what?" asked Tony. "oh shit," I said, "2 more beers." Tony coasted them down, then walked down for his money. rang it up. walked back. "shit it's hot. I wish I were deader than yesterday's Kotex." "where do men go when they die, Tony?" "shit, who cares?" "don't you believe in the Human Spirit?" "a bagga bullshit!" "how about Che? Joan of Arc? Billy the Kid? all those?" "a bagga bullshit!" we drank our beers, thinking about it. "look," I said, "I gotta take a piss." I walked back to the urinal and there, as usual, was Petey the Owl. I took it out and began to piss. "you sure got a little dick," he told me. "when I'm pissing or meditating, yeh, but I'm what you call the super-stretch type. when I'm ready to go, each inch I got now equals six." "that's good then, if you ain't lying, cause I see two inches showing." " I just show the head." "I'll give you a dollar to suck your cock." "that ain't much." "you're showing more than head. you're showing every bit of string you got." "fuck you, Pete." "you'll be back when you run out of beer money." I walked back on out. "2 more beers," I ordered. Tony went through his routine, came back. "it's so hot, I think I'm going crazy," he said. "the heat just makes you realize your true self," I told Tony. "wait a minute! you calling me a nut?" "most of us are. but it's kept a secret." ? "all right, saying your bullshit is straight, how many sane men are there on earth? are there any?" "a few." "how many?" " out of the billions?" "yeh, yeh." "well, I'd say 5 or 6." "5 or 6?" said Indian Mike. "well, suck my cock!" "look," said Tony. "how do you know I'm nuts? how do we get away with it?" "well, since we are all insane there are only a few to control us, far too few, so they just let us run around insane. that's all they can do at this moment. for a while I thought they might find some place to live in outer space while they destroyed us. but now I know that the insane control space also." " how do you know?" "because they planted an American flag on the moon." "suppose the Russians had planted a Russian flag on the moon?" "same thing," I said. "then you're impartial?" Tony asked. "I am impartial to all degrees of madness." we became quiet. kept drinking. and Tony too, began pouring himself scotch and waters. he could. he owned the place. "jesus, it's hot," said Tony. "shit, yeh," said Indian Mike. then Tony began talking. "insanity," said Tony, "ya know, there's something very insane going on at this very minute!" "sure," I said. "no, no, no-I mean right HERE at my place!" "yeh?" "yeh. It's so crazy, sometimes I get scared." "tell me all about it, Tony," I said, always ready for somebody else's bullshit. Tony leaned real close. "I know a guy's got a fuck-machine. no crazy sex magazine shit. like you see in the ads. hot water bottles with replaceable cornbeef pussies, all that nonsense. this guy has really put it together. a German scientist, we got to him, I mean out govt. did before the Russians could grab him. now keep it quiet." "sure, Tony, sure-" "Von Brashlitz. our govt. tried to get him interested in SPACE. no go. a brilliant old guy, but he just has this FUCK MA- CHINE in mind. at the same time he thinks he's some kind of an artist, calls himself Michelangelo at times-they pensioned him off at $500.00 a month to kind of keep him alive enough to stay outa the nuthouses. they watched him a while, then got a little bored or forgot, but they kept the checks coming, and now and then an agent would talk to him ten or twenty minutes a month, write a report that he was crazy, then leave, so he just drifted around from town to town, dragging this big red trunk behind him. finally one night he come in here and begins drinking. tells me that he is just a tired old man, needs a real quiet place to do his research. I kept putting him off. lotta nuts come in here, ya know." "yeh," I said. "then, man, he kept getting drunker and drunker, and he laid it down to me. he had designed a mechanical woman who could give a man a better fuck than any woman created throughout the centu- ries! plus no Kotex, no shit, no arguments!" "I been looking," I said, "for a woman like that all my life." Tony laughed. "every man has. I thought he was crazy, of course, until one night after closing I went down to his rooming house with him and he took the FUCK MACHINE out of the red trunk." "and?" "it was like going to heaven before you died." " let me guess the rest," I asked Tony. "guess." Von Brashlitz and his FUCK MACHINE are upstairs at your place right now." "uh huh," said Tony. "how much?" "twenty bucks a piece." "20 bucks to fuck a machine?" "he's outdone whatever Created us. you'll see." "Petey the Owl will blow me for a buck." "Petey the Owl is o.k. but he ain't no invention that beats the gods." I shoved over my 20. "so help me, Tony, if this is some crazy kind of hot-weather gag, you've lost your best customer!" "like you said earlier, we're all crazy anyhow. It's up to you." "right," I said. "I only get 50 percent, ya gotta understand. the rest goes to Von Brashlitz. 500 buck pension ain't much with inflation and taxes, and Von B. drinks schnapps like crazy." "let's make it," I said, "you've got 40 bucks. where's this immortal FUCK MACHINE?" Tony lifted a partition of the bar, said, "come through here. take the stairway to the back rear, just go up there, knock, say, 'Tony sent us'." "any door #?" "door #69." "oh, hell yes," I said, "what else?" we found the stairway. walked up. "Tony will do anything for a gag," I said. we walked along, there it was: door #69. I knocked: "Tony sent us." "ah, do come in, gentleman!" here was this old horny-looking freak, glass of schnapps in his hand, double-lensed glasses. just like the old-timed movies. he ap- peared to be having a visitor, a young thing, almost too young, looking flimsy and strong at the same time. she crossed her legs, flashing all the bit: nylon knees, nylon thighs, and just that tiny part there where the long stockings ended and just that touch of flesh began. she was all ass and breast, nylon legs, clean blue laughing eyes- "gentleman, ---my daughter, Tanya-" "what?" "ah, yes, I know, I am so-old- but like the myth of the black man with the ever-huge cock, there is also the myth of dirty old Germans who never stop fucking, you may believe what you wish to. this is my daughter, Tanya, anyhow-" "hello, boys," she laughed. then we all looked toward the door which was labeled: FUCK MACHINE STORAGE ROOM. he finished off his schnapps. "and so- you boys came over for the best FUCK ever, ya?" "Daddy!" said Tanya, "must you always be so crude?" Tanya recrossed her legs, higher this time, and I almost came. then the professor finished another schnapps, then got up and walked over to the door labeled FUCK MACHINE STORAGE ROOM. he turned and smiled at us, then very slowly opened the door. he walked on in and came out rolling this thing on what looked like a hospital bed on wheels. it was NAKED, a clod of metal. the prof rolled the damn thing right out in front of us, then began humming some rotten song, probably something from the German. a clod of metal with this hole in the center. the professor had an oil can in his hand, poked it into the hole and began punching in quite a quantity of this oil, meanwhile humming this insane German song. he kept punching the oil in, then looked back over his shoul- der and said, "nice, ya?" then he went back to work, pumping in the oil. Indian Mike looked at me, tried to laugh, said, "god damn- we've been taken again!" "yeah." I said, "it seems like it's been 5 years since I been laid, but I'll be damned if I'll stick my cock into that mound of hard lead!" Von Brashlitz laughed. walked over to his liquor cabinet, found another 5th. of schnapps, poured a goody, sat down facing us. "as we in Germany began knowing that the war was lost, and the net began to tighten---down to the final battle of Berlin-we knew that the war had taken on a new essence---the real war then became who was to grab the most German scientists. If Russia got well, I don't know how it really came out- numerically or in terms of scientific brain-power. I only know that the Americans got to me first, snapped me up, took me away in a car, gave me a drink, put pistols to my head, made promises, talked madly. I signed every- thing-" "all right," I said, "so much for history. but I'm still not going to stick my dick, my poor little dick into that hunk of sheetmetal or whatever it is! Hitler must have really been a madman to nursemaid you. I wish the Russians had gotten to your ass first! I want my 20 bucks back!" Von Brashlitz laughed, "heeeheeeheeehe-it is just my little joke, nien? heeeheeeheeeheee!" he shoved that mound of lead back into the closet.slammed the door. "oh, heheeehee!" had a bit more schnapps. Von B. poureed another schnapps. he really put them down. "gentlemen, I am an artist and an inventor! my FUCK MACHINE is really my daughter, Tanya-" "more little jokes, Von?" I asked. "joke nothing! Tanya! go over and sit in the gentleman's lap." Tanya laughed, got up, walked over and sat in my lap. a FUCK MACHINE? I couldn't believe it! her skin was skin, or so it seemed, and her tongue as it worked into my mouth as we kissed, it was not mechanical - each movement was different, responding to my own. I was busy at it, ripping her blouse from her breasts, working tangled; we somehow got to standing - and I took her standing up, my hands reaching down, spreading her asshole as I pumped, she came - I could feel the throbbing, and I joined. it was the best fuck I had ever had! Tanya went to the bathroom, cleaned-up and showered, dressed-up again for Indian Mike. I guess. "man's greatest invention," Von Brashlitz said quite seriously. he was quite right. then Tanya came out and sat on MY lap. "NO! NO! TANYA! IT'S THE OTHER MAN'S TURN! YOU JUST FINISHED FUCKING THAT ONE!" she didn't seem to hear. and it was strange, even for a FUCK MACHINE, because, really, I had never been a very good lover. "do you love me?" she asked. "yes." "I love you. and I am so happy. and- I'm not supposed to be alive. you know that, don't you?" "god damn it!" screamed the old man, "this FUCKING MA- CHINE!" he walked over to this varnished box with the word TANYA printed on the side. there were these little wires sprouting out of it; there were dials, and needles that quivered, and many colors, lights that blinked on and off, things that ticked-Von B. was the craziest pimp I had ever met, he kept playing with the dials, then he looked at Tanya: "25 YEARS! damn near a lifetime to build you! I even had to hide you from HITLER! and now- you try to turn into a mere and ordinary bitch!" "I'm not 25," said Tanya, "I'm 24." "you see? you see? just like a common bitch!" he went back to his dials. "you've put on a different shade of lipstick," I said to Tanya. "you like it?" "oh, yes!" she leaned over and kissed me. Von B. kept playing with the dials. I felt that he would win. Von Brashlitz turned to Indian Mike. "it's just a minor kink in the machine. trust me. I'll get it straight in a minute, ya?" "I hope so," said Indian Mike, "I've got 14 inches waiting and am twenty bucks down. "I love you," Tanya told me, "I will never fuck any other man. If I can't have you, I won't have anybody." "I'll forgive you, Tanya, for anything that you do." the prof was getting pissed. he kept turning the dials but noth- ing was happening. "TANYA! It is time for you to FUCK the OTHER man! I am- getting tired-must have a bit of schnapps-be off to sleep-Tanya-" "ah," said Tanya, "you rotten old fuck! you and your schnapps, and then nibbling at my tits all night, so I can't even sleep while you can't even raise a decent hard! you're disgusting!" "VAS?" "I SAID, 'YOU CAN'T EVEN RAISE A DECENT HARD!'" "you, Tanya, will pay for this! you are MY creation, I am not yours!" he kept turning his magic knobs, I mean, on the machine. he was quite angry, and you could see that, somehow, the anger gave him a vital brilliance beyond himself, "just wait, Mike. all I have to do it to adjust the electronics! Wait! a short! I see it!" then he leaped up. this guy they had saved from the Russians. he looked at Indian Mike. "it's straight now! the machine is in order! have fun!" then he walked over to his schnapps bottle, poured another goody, sat down to watch. Tanya got off of my lap and walked over to Indian Mike. I watched Tanya and Indian Mike embrace. Tanya worked Indian Mike's zipper down, got his cock out, and man he had plenty of cock! he'd said 14 inches but it looked more like 20. then Tanya put both her hands around Mike's cock. he moaned in glory. then she ripped the whole cock right out of and off of his body. threw it to the side. I saw the thing roll along the rug like an insane sausage, drib- bling little sad trailets of blood. It rolled up against a wall. then stayed there like something with a head but no legs and no place to go-which was true enough. next, here came the BALLS flying through the air. a heavy, looping sight. they simply landed upon the center of the rug and didn't know what to do but bleed. so, they bled. Von Brashlitz, the hero of the America-Russ invasion took a hard look at what was left of Indian Mike, my old beer-drinking buddy, very red on the floor, flowing from the center - Von B took the highroad, down the stairway- room 69 had done everything but that. and then I asked her: "Tanya, the heat will be here very quick- ly. shall we dedicate the room number to our love?" "of course, my love!" we made it, just in time, and the stupid heat ran in. one of the learned then pronounced Indian Mike dead. and since Von B. was a kind of U.S.Govt. product, there was a hell of a lot of people around - various chickenshit officials - firemen, reporters, the cops, the inventor, the C.I.A., the F.B.I., and various other forms of human shit. Tanya came over and sat in my lap. "they will kill me now. please try not to be sad." I didn't answer. then Von Brashlitz was screaming, pointing to Tanya - "I TELL YOU, GENTLEMEN, SHE HAS NO FEELING! I SAVED THE DAMN THING FROM HITLER! I tell you, it is nothing but a MACHINE!" they all just stood there, nobody believed Von B. it was simply the most beautiful machine, and so-called wo- man, they had ever seen. "Oh shit! You idiots! Every woman is a fucking machine, can't you see that? They play for the highest bidder! THERE IS NO SUCH THING AS LOVE! THAT IS A FAIRY-TALE MIRAGE LIKE CHRISTMAS!" they still wouldn't believe. "THIS is only a machine! have FEAR! WATCH!" VonBrashlitz grabbed one of Tanya's arms. ripped it completely off her body. and inside - inside the hole of her shoulder - you could see it - there was nothing but wire and tubes - coiled and running things - plus some minor substance that faintly resembled blood. I saw Tanya standing there with this coil of wire hanging from her shoulder, where the arm used to be, she looked at me: "please, for me to! I asked you to try not to be too sad." I watched as they ganged her, and ripped and raped and tore. I couldn't help it. I put my head down between my legs and cried- also, Indian Mike never got his 20 bucks worth. some months went by. I never went back to the bar. There was a trial but the govt. exonerated Von B. and his machine. I moved to another town. far away. and one day sitting in a barbershop, I picked up this sex mag. here was an ad: "Blow up your own little dolly! $29.95. Resistant rubber material, very durable. Chains and whips included in package. A bikini, bras, panties. 2 wigs, lipstick and small jar of love-potion included. Von Brashlitz Co." I sent him a money order. some box number in Mass. he had moved too. the package arrived in about 3 weeks. very embarrassing. I didn't have a bicycle pump, and then I got the hots when I took the thing out of the package. I had to go down to the corner gas station and use their air hose. it looked better as it blew up. big tits. big ass. "whatcha got there, pal?" the gas station man asked me. "look, man, I'm just borrowing a little air. don't I buy a lot of gas here, huh?" "o.k., that's o.k., you can have the air. I just damn well can't help wondering whatcha got there-" "just forget it!" I said. "JESUS! look at those TITS!" "I AM looking, asshole!" I left him there with his tongue hanging out, then threw her over my shoulder and made it back to my place. I carried her into the bedroom. the big question was yet to come? I spread the legs and looked for some kind of opening. Von B. hadn't completely slipped. I climbed on top and began kissing that rubber mouth. now and then I reached for one of the giant rubber tits and sucked upon it. I had put a yellow wig on her and rubbed the love-potion all over my cock. It didn't take much love-potion. maybe he'd sent a year's worth. I kissed her passionately behind the ears, stuck my finger up her ass, kept pumping. then I leaped off, chained her arms behind her back, there was this little lock and key and then I whipped her ass good with the leather thongs. god, I gotta be nuts! I thought. then I flipped her over and put it back in. humped and humped. frankly, it was rather boring. I imagined male dogs screwing female cats; I imagined 2 people fucking through the air as they jumped from the Empire State Building. I imagined a pussy as large as an octopus, crawling toward me, wet and stinking and aching for an orgasm. I remembered all the panties, knees, legs, tits, pussies I had ever seen. the rubber was sweating; I was sweating. "I love you, darling!" I whispered into one of her rubber ears. I hate to admit it, but I forced myself to come into that lousy hunk of rubber. It was hardly a Tanya at all. I took a razor blade and cut the thing all to shit. dumped it out with the beercans. how many men in America bought those stupid things? or then you can pass half a hundred fuck machines in a 10 minute walk on almost any main sidewalk of America - the only difference being that they pretended that they were human. poor Indian Mike. with that 20 inch dead cock. all the poor Indian Mikes. all the climbers into Space. all the whores of Vietnam and Washington. poor Tanya, her belly had been a hog's belly. veins the veins of a dog. she rarely shatted or pissed, she had just fucked - heart, voice and tongue borrowed from others - there were only supposed to be 17 possible organ transplants at that time. Von B. was far ahead of them. poor Tanya, who had only eaten a little - mostly cheap cheese and raisins. she had had no desire for money or property or large new cars or overexpensive homes. she had never read the evening paper. had no desire for colored television, new hats, rain boots, backfence conversation with idiot wives; nor had she desired a hus- band who was a doctor, a stockbroker, a congressman or a cop. and the guy at the gas station keeps asking me, "hey, what happened to that thing you brought down here one day and blew up with the air hose?" but he doesn't ask anymore. I buy my gas at a new place. I don't even get my hair cut anymore where I saw that magazine with the Von Brashlitz rubber dolly sex ad. I am trying to forget every- thing. what would you do? === SIX INCHES The first three months of my marriage to Sarah were acceptable but I'd say a little after that our troubles began. She was a good cook, and for the first time in years I was eating well. I began to put on weight. And Sarah began to make remarks. "Ah, Henry, you're beginning to look like a turkey they're plumping for Thanksgiving." "Ats right, baby," I told her. I was a shipping clerk in an auto parts warehouse and the pay was hardly sufficient. My only joys were eating, drinking beer and going to bed with Sarah. Not exactly a rounded life but a man had to take what he could get. Sarah was plenty. Everything about her spelled S-E-X. I had really gotten to know her at a Christmas party for the employees at the warehouse. Sarah was a secretary there. I noticed none of the fellows got near her at the party and I couldn't understand it. I had never seen a sexier woman and she didn't act the fool either. I got close to her and we drank and talked. She was beautiful. There was something odd about her eyes, though. They just kept looking into you and the eyelids didn't seem to blink. When she went to the restroom I walked over to Harry the truckdriver. "Listen, Harry," I asked, "how come none of the boys make a play for Sarah?" "She's a witch, man, a real witch. Stay away." "There's no such thing as witches, Harry. All that has been disproven. All those women they burned at the stake in the old days, it was a cruel and a horrible mistake. There's no such thing as a witch." "Well, maybe they did burn a lot of women wrongly, I can't say. But this bitch is a witch, take it from me." "All she needs, Harry, is understanding." "All she needs," said Harry, "is a victim." "How do you know?" "Facts," said Harry. "Two guys here, Manny, a salesman. And Lincoln, a clerk." "What happened?" "They just kind of disappeared in front of our eyes, only so slowly--- you could see them going, vanishng..." "What do you mean?" "I don't want to talk about it. You'd think I was crazy." Harry walked off. Then Sarah came out of the lady's room. She looked beautiful. "What did Harry tell you about me?" she asked. "How did you know I was talking to Harry?" "I know," she said. "He didn't say much." "Whatever he said, forget it. It's bullshit. I won't let him have any and he's jealous. He likes to badmouth people." "I'm not concerned with Harry's opinions," I told her. "You and I are going to make it, Henry," she said. She went to my apartment with me after the party and I'm telling you I've never been laid like that. She was the woman of all women. It was a month or so later that we were married. She quit her job right off, but I didn't say anything because I was so glad to have her. Sarah made her own clothes, did her own hair. She was a remarkable woman. Very remarkable. But, as I said, it was after about 3 months that she began making these remarks about my weight. At first they were just genial little remarks, then she began to get scornful about it. I came home one night and she said, "Take off your damned clothes!" "What, my darling?" "You heard me, bastard! Strip!" Sarah was a little different then than I had ever seen her. I took off my clothes and underwear and threw them on the couch. She stared at me. "Awful," she said, "what a lot of shit!" "What, dear?" "I said you look just like a big tub of shit!" "Listen, honey, what's wrong? You got the rag on tonight?" "Shut up! Look at that stuff hanging at your sides!" She was right. There seemed to be a little pouch of fat on each side, hanging just above the hips. Then she doubled up her fists and hit me hard several times on each of the pouches. "We've got to punch that shit! Break up the fat tissues, the cells..." She punched me again, several times. "Ow! Baby, that hurts!" "Good! Now, hit yourself!" "Hit myself?" "Go ahead, damn you!" I hit myself several times, quite hard. When I was finished the things were still there, though now they looked quite red. "We're going to get that shit off of you," she told me. I figured that is was love and decided to cooperate... Sarah began counting my calories. She took away my fried foods, bread and potatoes, salad dressing, but I kept my beer. I had to show her who was wearing the pants in our family. "No, damn it," I said, "I won't give up my beer. I love you very much but the beer stays!" "All right," said Sarah, "we'll make it work anyway." "Make what work?" "I mean, get that shit off you, get you down to a desirable size." "And what's a desirable size?" I asked. "You'll see." Each night when I got home she'd ask me the same questionl "Did you punch your sides today?" "Oh, hell yes!" "How many times?" "400 punches on both sides, hard." I would walk down the streets punching at my sides. People looked at me but it didn't matter after a while because I knew that I was accomplishing something and they weren't." Things were working, marvelously. I came down from 225 to 197. Then from 197 to 184. I felt ten years younger. People remarked about how good I looked. Everybody except Harry the truck driver. Of course, he was just jealous because he never got into Sarah's panties. His tough shit. One night on the scales I was down to 179. I said to Sarah, "Don't you think we've come down enough? Look at me!" The things on my sides were long gone. My belly hung in. My cheeks looked as if I were sucking them in. "According to the charts," said Sarah, "according to my charts, you've not yet reached a desirable size." "Look," I told her, "I'm six feet tall. What is the desireable weight?" And then Sarah answered me quite strangely. "I didn't say 'desirable weight'," I said, 'desireable size'. This is the New Age, the Atomic Age, and most important the Age of Overpopulation. I am the Saviour of the World. I have the answer to the Overpopulation Explosion. Explosion. Let others work on Pollution. Solving Overpopulation is the root; it will solve Pollution and many other things too." "What the hell are you talking about?" I asked, ripping the cap off a bottle of beer. "Don't worry about it," she answered, "you'll find out." Then I began to notice, as I stepped on the scales, that although I was still losing weight I didn't seem to be getting any thinner. It was strange. And then I noticed that my pantscuffs were hanging down over my shoes---ever so slightly, and that my shirtcuffs were hanging down a bit over my wrists. When I drove to work I notcied that the steering wheel seemed further away. I had to pull the car seat up a notch. One night I got on the scales. 155. "Look here, Sarah." "Yes, darling?" "There's something I don't understand." "What?" "I seem to be shrinking." "Shrinking?" "Oh, you fool! That's incredible! How can a man shrink? Do you really think that your diet is shinking your bones? Bones melt! Rduction of calories only reduces fat. Don't be an idiot! Shrinking? Impossible!" Then she laughed. "All right," I said, "come here. Here's a pencil. Now I'm gonna stand against this wall. My mother used to do this with me as a kid when I was growing. Now put a line right there on the wall where the pencil hits after you place it straight across the top of my head." "All right, silly," she said. She drew the line. A week later I was down to 131. It was happening faster and faster. "Come here, Sarah." "Yes, silly boy." "Now, draw the line." She drew the line, I turned around. "Now see here, I've lost 24 pounds and 8 inches in the last week. I'm melting away! I'm now five feet two. This is madness! Madness! I've had enough. I've caught you cutting my pants legs, my shirt sleeves. It won't work. I'm going to begin eating again. I think that you are some kind of witch!" It was soon after that the boss called me into the office I climbed into the chair across from his desk. "Henry Markson Jones II?" "Of course, sir." "Well, Jones, we've been watching you carefully. I'm afraid you just don't fit this job anymore. We hate to see you go like this...I mean , we hate to let you go like this, but..." "Look, sir, I always do my best." "We know you do, Jones, but you're just not doing a man's job back there anymore." He let me go. Of course, I knew that I would get my unemployment compensation. But I thought it was small of him to let me go like that... I stayed home with Sarah. Which made it worse---she fed me. It got so I couldn't reach the refrigerator door anymore. And then she put me on a small silver chain. Soon I was two feet tall. I had to use a potty chair to shit. But she still let me have my beer, as promised. "Ah, my little pet," she said, "you're so small and cute!" "I'm not a duck, I'm a man!" "Oh my little sweet man-y-man!" She picked me up and kissed me with her red lips... Sarah got me down to being 6 inches tall. She carried me to the store in her purse. I could look out at the people through the little air holes she had poked in her purse. I will say one thing for the woman. She still allowed me to have my beer. I drank it by the thimble. A quart would last me a month. In the old days it was gone in 45 minutes. I was resigned. I knew that if she wished to do so she could make me vanish entirely. Better 6 inches than nothing. Even a little life becomes very dear when you near the end of life. So, I amused Sarah. It was all I could do. She made me little clothes and shoes and put me on top of the radio and turned on the music and said, "Dance, little one! Dance, my dunce! Dance, my fool!" Well, I couldn't collect my unemployment compensation so I danced on top of the radio while she clapped her hands and laughed. You know, spiders frightened me terribly and flies were the size of giant eagles, and if a cat ever caught me it would torture me like a small mouse. But life was still dear to me. I danced and sang and hung on. No matter how little a man has he will find that he will always settle for less. When I shit on the rug I would get spanked. Sarah put little pieces of paper around and I shit on them. And I ripped off little pieces of that paper to wipe my butt with. It felt like cardboard. I got hemorrhoids. Couldn't sleep nights. Feelings of inferiority, of being trapped. Paranoia? Anyhow, I felt good when I sang and danced and Sarah let me have my beer. She kept me at an exact six inches for some reason. What the reason was, it was beyond me. As almost everything else was beyond me. I made up songs for Sarah, that's what I called them: Songs for Sarah: "o, I'm just a little snot, that's all right until I get hot, then there's nothing to stick it in except the fucking head of a pin! Sarah would clap her hands and laugh. "if ya wanna be an admir in the queen's navy just be a clark for the fuckin' nark, grow 6 inches tall and when the Queen goes to pee you can peek up inter drippin' pussy..." And Sarah would clap her hands and laugh. Well, that was all right. It had to be... But one night something very disgusting happened. I was singing and dancing and Sarah was on the bed, naked, clapping her hands, drinking wine and laughing. I was putting on a good show. One of my best. But, as always, the top of the radio got hot and started burning my feet. I couldn't stand it anymore. "Look, baby," I said, "I've had it. Take me down. Gimme a beer. No wine. You drink that cheapass wine. Gimme a thimble of that good beer." "Sure, sweetie," she said, "you put on a wonderful show tonight. If Manny and Lincoln had acted as nice as you, they'd be here tonight. But they didn't sing or dance, the brooded. And worst of all, they objected to the Final Act." "And what was the Final Act?" I asked. "Now, sweetie, just drink your beer and relax. I want you to enjoy the Final Act. You are evidently a much more talented person than Manny or Lincoln. I do believe that we can have the Culmination of the Opposites." "O, hell yes," I said, draining my beer. "Now give me a refill. And just what is the Culmination of the Opposites?" "Enjoy your beer, little sweetie, you'll know soon enough." I finished my beer and then the disgusting thing happened, a most disgusting thing. Sarah picked me up and placed me down between her legs, which she spread open just a bit. Then I was facing a forest of hair. I hardened my back and neck muscles, sensing what was to come. I was jammed into darkness and stench. I heard Sarah moan. Then Sarah began to move me slowly back and forth. As I said, the stench was unbearable, and it was difficult to breathe, but somehow there was air in there---various side- pockets and drafts of oxygen. Now and then my head, the top of my head bumped The Man in the Boat and then Sarah would let out an extra-illuminated moan. Sarah began moving me faster and faster. My skin began to burn, it became harder to breathe; the stench became worse. I could hear her panting. It occured to me that the sooner I ended the thing the less I would suffer. Each time I was rammed forward I would arch my back and neck, tilt everything of me into this hooking curve of a thing, bumping The Man in the Boat. Suddenly I was ripped out of that terrible tunnel. Sarah held me up to her face. "Come, you damned fiend of a thing! Come!" she demanded. Sarah was totally drunk on wine and passion. I felt myself being rushed back into the tunnel. She worked me rapidly back and forth. Then suddenly I sucked air into my lungs to increase my size and then I gathered saliva intlo my jaws and spit it out---once, twice, 3 times, 4, 5, six times, then I stopped...The stench increased beyond all imagination and then, at last, I was lifted out into the air. Sarah lifted me into the lamplight and began kissing me all over my head and shoulders. "O, my darling! o, my precious little cock! I love you!" Then she kissed me with those horrible red and painted lips. I vomited. Then, spent in a swoon of wine and passion, she placed me between her breasts. I rested there and listened to her heart beat. She had taken me off of her damnd leash, that silver chain, but it didn't matter. I was hardly free. One of her massive breasts had fallen to one side and I seemed to be right over the heart. The heart of the witch. If I were the answer to the Population Explosion then why hadn't she used me as more than a thing of entertainment, a sexual toy? I stretched out there and listened to that heart. I decided that she was a witch. Then I glanced up. Do you know what I saw? A most amazing thing. Up in that little crevice below the headboard. A hat pin. Yes, a hat pin, long with one of those round purple glass things at the end of it. I walked up between her breasts, climbed her throat, got up on her chin(after much trouble), then walked quietly across her lips, and then she stirred a bit as I almost fell and had to grab to a nostril for support. Very slowly I got up by the right eye--- her head was tilted slightly to the left---and then I was up on the forehead, having gone past the temple, and I was up into the hair---very difficult, wading through. Then I stood and stretched---reached up and just managed to grab the hat pin. Coming down was faster but more treacherous. I almost lost my balance several times, carrying that hat pin. One fall and it was over. I laughed several times because it was so ridiculous. The outcome of an office party for the gang, Merry Christmas. Then I was down under that massive breast again. I laid the hat pin down and listened again. I listened for the exact sound of the heart. I determined it to be at a spot exactly below a small brown birthmark. Then I stood up. I picked up the hat pin with its purple glass end, beautiful in the lamplight. And I thought, will it work? I was 6 inches tall and I judged the hat pin to be half again longer than 1.9 inches. The heart seemed closer than that. I lifted the pin and plunged it in. Just below the birthmark. Sarah rolled and convulsed. I held onto the hat pin. She almost threw me to the floor---which by comparative size seemed a thousand feet or more and would have killed me. I hung on. Her lips formed an odd sound. Then she seemed to quiver all over like a woman freezing. I reached up and jammed the remaining 3 inches of the pin down into her chest until the beautiful purple glass head of the pin was up against her skin. Then Sarah was still, I listened. I heard the heart, one two, one two, one two, one two, one... It stopped. And then with my little killer's hands, I clutched and gripped the bedsheet and made my way to the floor. I was 6 inches tall and real and frightened and hungry. I found a hole in one of the bedroom screens which faced east and ran from ceiling to floor. I grabbed at the branch of a bush, climbed on, clambered along the branch to the inside of the bush. Nobody knew that Sarah was dead but I. But that had no realistic good. If I were to go on, I would have to have something to eat. But I couldn't help wondering how my case would be evolved in a court of law? Was I guilty? I ripped off a leaf and tried to eat it. No good. Hardly. Then I saw the lady in the court to the south set out a plate of catfood for her cat. I crawled out of the bush and worked my way toward the catfood, watching for animals and movements. It tasted worse than anything I had ever eaten but I had no choice. I ate all the catfood I could---death tasted worse. Then I walked over to the bush and climbed back into it. There I was, 6 inches tall, the answer to The Population Explosionm hanging in a bush with a bellyful of catfood. There are details I don't want to bore you with. Escapes from cats and dogs and rats. Feeling myself growing bit by bit. Watching them carry Sarah's body out of there. Going in there and finding myself too small, still, to open the refrigerator door. The day the cat almost caught me as I ate at his bowl. I had to break away. I was then 8 or 10 inches tall, I was growing. I even scared pigeons. When you scare pigeons you know that you are getting there. I simply ran down the street one day, hiding along the shadows of buildings and down beneath hedges and the like. I kept running and hiding until I got outside a supermarket and I hid under a newspaper stand just outside the entrance to the store. Then, as a big woman walked up and the electric door opened, I walked in behind her. One of the clerks at a checkstand looked up as I walked in behind the woman: "Hey, what the hell's that?" "What?" a customer asked him. "I thought I saw something," said the clerk, "maybe not. I hope not." I somehow sneaked back to the storeroom without being seen. I hid behind some cartons of baked beans. That night I came out and had a fine feed. Potato salad, pickles, ham on rye, potato chips and beer, plenty of beer. It became about the same routine. Each day, all day, I hid in the storeroom and at night I'd come out and have a party. But I was growing and hiding was becoming more difficult. I got to watching the manager put the money in the safe each night. He was the last to leave. I counted the pauses as he put the money away each night. It seemed to be---7 right, 6 left, 4 right, 6 left, 3 right, open. I went over to the safe each night and tried the numbers. I had to make a kind of stairway out of empty cartons in order to get up to the dial. It didn't seem to work but I kept trying. Each night, I mean. Meanwhile I was growing fast. Perhaps I was 3 feet tall. The store had a small clothing section and I had to keep going into the larger sizes. The population problem was returning. Then one night the safe opened. I had 23 thousand dollars in cash. I must have hit them the night before banking time. I took the key the manager used in order to get out without the burglar alarm ringing. Then I walked down the street and got a week's worth of lodging at the Sunset Motel. I told the lady I worked as a midget in the movies. It just seemed to bore her. "No television or loud noises after ten p. m. That's our rule here." She took my money, gave me a receipt and closed her door. They key said room 103. I hadn't even looked at the room. The doors said 98, 99, 100, 101, I was walking north toward the Hollywood Hills, toward those mountains behind them, with the great and golden light of the Lord shining upon me, growing. === ** 25 BUMS IN RAGS** you know how it is with horseplayers. you hit it hot and you think it's all over. I had this place in back, even had my own garden, planted all kinds of tulips, which grew, beautifully and amazingly. I had the green hand. I had the green money. what system I had devised I can no longer remember, but it was working and I wasn't and that's a pleasant enough way to live. and there was Kathy. Kathy had it. the old guy next door would actually slobber at the mouth when he saw her. he was always knocking at the door. "Kathy! oooh, Kathy! Kathy!" I'd answer the door, just dressed in my shorts. "ooooh, I thought-" "I thought Kathy-" "Kathy's taking a shit. any message?" "I-bought these bones for your dog." he had a big bag of dry chicken bones. "feeding a dog chicken bones is like putting broken razor blades in a child's cereal. you trying to kill my dog, fucker?" "oh, no!" "then jam the bones and split." "I don't understand." "stick that bag of chickenbones up your ass and get the hell out of here!" "I just thought Kathy-" "I told you, Kathy's taking a SHIT!" I slammed the back door on him. "you shouldn't be so hard on the old fart, Hank, he says I remind him of his daughter when she was young." "all right, so he made it with his daughter. let him screw swiss cheese. I don't want him at the door." "I suppose you think I let him in after you go to the track?" "I don't even wonder about that." "what do you wonder about?" "all I wonder is which one of you rides topside." "you son of a bitch. you can leave now!" I was getting on my shirt and pants, then socks and shoes. I won't be 4 blocks away before you're locked in embrace." she threw a book at me. I wasn't looking and the edge of the book hit me over the right eye. a cut started and a spot of blood hit my hand as I tied my right shoe. "I'm sorry, Hank." "don't get NEAR me!" I went out and got into the car, backed out the drive at 35 miles an hour, taking part of the hedge with me, then some of the stucco from the front house with my left rear fender. there were blood on my shirt then and I took out my handkerchief and held it over the eye. it was going to be a bad Saturday at the track. I was mad. I bet like the atomic bomb was on the way. I wanted to make ten grand. I bet longshots. I didn't cash a ticket. I lost $500. all I had going to be a terrible Saturday night. I parked the car and went in the back door. "Hank-" "what?" "you look like death. what happened?" "I blew it. I blew the roll. 500." "jesus. I'm sorry," she said, "it's my fault." she came up to me, put her arms around me. "god damn, I'm sorry, daddy. it was my fault, I know it." "forget it. you didn't make the bets." "are you still mad?" "no, no, I know you're not fucking that old turkey." "can I get you something to eat?" "no, no, just get us a fifth of whiskey and the paper." I got up and went to the hidden money cache. we were down to $180. well, it had been worse, many times, but I felt that I was on my way back to the factories and the warehouses, if I could get that. I came out with a ten. the dog still liked me. I pulled his ears. he didn't care how much money I had or how little. a real ace dog. yeah. I walked out of the bedroom. Kathy was putting on lipstick in front of the mirror. I pinched her on the ass and kissed her behind the ear. "get me some beer and cigars too. I need to forget." she left and I listened to her heels clicking on the drive. she was as good a woman as I found and I had found her in a bar. I leaned back in the chair and stared at the ceiling. a bum. I was a bum. always this distaste for work, always trying to live off my luck. when Kathy came back I told her to pour a big one. she looked funny, and fine. we'd make love. we'd make love through the sad- ness. I just hated to see it go: car, house, dog, woman. it had been gentle and easy living. I guess I was shaken because I opened the paper and looked at the WANT ADS. "hey, Kathy, here's something. men wanted, Sunday. pay same day." "oh, Hank, rest up tomorrow. you'll get those horses Tuesday. everything will look better then." "but shit, baby, every buck counts! they don't run on Sunday. Caliente, yeah, but you can't beat that 25 percent Caliente take and the distance. I can get good and drunk tonight and then pick up this shit tomorrow. those extra bucks might make the difference." Kathy looked at me funny. she'd never heard me talk like that before. I always acted like the money would be there. that 500 dollar loss had left me in shock. she phoned me another tall one. I drank it right off. shock, shock, lord, lord, the factories. the wasted days, the days without meaning, the day of bosses and idiots, and the slow and brutal clock. we drank until two a.m., just like at the bar, then went to bed, mad love, slept. I set the alarm for four a.m., was up and in the car and downtown skidrow at 4:30 a.m. I stood on the corner with about 25 bums in rags. they stood there rolling cigarettes and drinking wine. well, it's money, I thought. I'll get back-some day I'll vacation in Paris or Rome. shit on these guys. I don't belong here. then something said to me, that's what they're ALL thinking I don't belong here. each one of THEM is thinking that about HIM- SELF. and they're right, so? the truck came along about 5:10a.m. and we climbed in. god, I could be sleeping along behind Kathy's fine ass about now. but it's money. guys were talking about just getting off the boxcar. they stank, poor fellows. but they didn't seem miserable. I was the only one who was miserable. I would be getting up about now, taking a piss. I would be having a beer in the kitchen, looking for the sun, seeing it get lighter, peeking at my tulips. then going back to bed with Kathy. the guy next to me said, "hey, buddy!" "yeah," I said. "I'm a Frenchman," he said. I didn't answer. "can you use a blowjob?" "no," I said. "I saw one guy blowing another in the alley this morning. this one guy had this LONG THIN white dick and the other guy was still sucking and the come was dripping out of his mouth. I watched and watched and god I'm hot as hell. let me suck your dick, buddy!" "no," I told him, "I don't feel like it right now." "well, if I can't do that, maybe you can suck mine." "get the hell out of here!" I told him. the Frenchman moved further back into the truck. by the time we'd gone another mile his head was bobbing. he was doing it righ in front of everybody, to some old guy who looked like an Indian. "GO, BABY, GET IT ALL!!!" somebody shouted. some of the bums laughed but most of them were just silent, drinking their wine and rolling their cigarettes. the old Indian acted like it wasn't even happening. by the time we got to Vermont the Frenchman had got it all and we all climbed out, the Frenchman, the Indian, myself and the other bums. they gave us each a little tab of doughnut and a coffee. the waitress held her nose up. we stank. dirty cocksuckers. then somebody fin