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Charles Bukowski

I never got to where I was
driving that night after
I exhaled two 15's on the breath
they put the cuffs
on me
and I climbed into the back seat
of their squad car
for a ride to the drunk tank at
150 N. Los Angeles Street,
Parker Center.
"what's your occupation?"
the one not driving asked
"I'm a writer," I answered.
"you sure don't look like a
writer to me," said the
"oh, I'm famous," I
"I never heard of you,"
he said.
"I never heard of you either,"
I replied.
they parked, got me out and
walked me up the ramp.
"you sure don't look like a
writer," the cop said
inside they took the cuffs
I guess they were right:
I wasn't famous
and they weren't sure
what a writer should
look like.
but I knew what cops
looked like.
these were cops
and they were famous
and looked the same
all over the
in a crowded drunk tank
everything was as per usual:
one toilet without a lid
and one pay
telephone, both
being used.

from BLUE BOOK #1

Copyright (c) Blue Press, 2006