The Pleasures of the Damned. Charles Bukowski

       blue beads and bones

      as the orchid dies

       and the grass goes

       insane, let’s have one for the lost:

      I met an old man

       and a tired whore

       in a bar

       at 8:00 in the morning

       across from MacArthur Park—

       we were sitting over our beers

       he and I and the old whore

       who had slept in an unlocked car

       the night before

       and wore a blue necklace.

       the old guy said to me:

       “look at my arms. I’m all bone.

       no meat on me.”

       and he pulled back his sleeves

       and he was right—

       bone with just a layer of skin

       hanging like paper.

       he said, “I don’t eat

       nothin’.”

       I bought him a beer and the

       whore a beer.

       now there, I thought, is a man

       who doesn’t eat

       meat, he doesn’t eat

       vegetables. kind of a saint.

       it was like a church in there

       as only the truly lost

       sit in bars on Tuesday mornings

       at 8:00 a.m.

       then the whore said, “Jesus,

       if I don’t score tonight I’m

       finished. I’m scared, I’m really

       scared. you guys can go to skid row

       when things get bad. but where can a

       woman go?”

       we couldn’t answer her.

       she picked up her beer with one hand

       and played with her blue beads with the

       other.

       I finished my beer, went to the

       corner and got a Racing Form from Teddy the

       newsboy—age 61.

       “you got a hot one today?”

       “no, Teddy, I gotta see the board; money

       makes them run.”

       “I’ll give you 4 bucks. bet one for

       me.”

       I took his 4 bucks. that would buy a sandwich,

       pay parking, plus 2

       coffees. I got into my car, drove

       off. too early for the

       track. blue beads and bones. the

       universe was

       bent. a cop rode his bike right up

       behind me. the day had really

       begun.