I walk into a well-worn bookshop:
the kind with geriatric book-people
discussing obscure book-things
in those jaundiced book-voices;
laced with too much coffee
and drenched in puddles of yellowing lamplight.
I ask for Ham on Rye.
"A second-hand copy please."
A deep weary breath and then —
"My dear, Dear," ol' Gerry says, clucking his tongue as if
I had said something quite unfashionable.
"You'd have to have a pot of money
to be able to afford a second-hand Bukowski."
Wide-eyed, I blink an unfashionable-blink,
give him an unfashionable-halfgrin,
and mutter insignificant nothings
in that unfashionable-mutter that comes with
drinking too much coffee
and being drenched in puddles of yellowing lamplight.
I then walk out
with a shiny new
of Henry Chinaski's sorry lifetale.
"...there is a loneliness in this world so greatthat you can see it in the slow movement ofthe hands of a clock.
people so tiredmutilatedeither by love or no love..."
Excerpt from 'The Crunch' from Love is a Dog from Hell