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.

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