the phone rang at 1:30 a.m.
and it was a man from Denver:
“Chinaski, you got a following in
Denver…”
“yeah?”
“yeah, I got a magazine and I want some
poems from you…”
“FUCK YOU, CHINASKI!” I heard a voice
in the background…
“I see you have a friend,”
I said.
“yeah,” he answered, “now, I want
six poems…”
“CHINASKI SUCKS! CHINASKI’S A PRICK!”
I heard the other
voice.
“you fellows been drinking?”
I asked.
“so what?” he answered. “you drink.”
“that’s true…”
“CHINASKI’S AN ASSHOLE!”
then
the editor of the magazine gave me the
address and I copied it down on the back
of an envelope.
“send us some poems now…”
“I’ll see what I can do…”
“CHINASKI WRITES SHIT!”
“goodbye,” I said.
“goodbye,” said the
editor.
I hung up.
there are certainly any number of lonely
people without much to do with
their nights.
