I saw a vacancy sign in the window in front of a rooming-house, had the
cabby pull up. I paid him and walked up on the front porch, rang the bell. I
had one black eye from the fight, another cut eye, a swollen nose, and my
lips were puffed. My left ear was bright red and every time I touched it, an electric shock ran through my body.
An old man came to the door. He was in his undershirt and it looked
like he had spilled chili and beans across the front of it. His hair was
grey and uncombed, he needed a shave and he was puffing on a wet cigarette that stank.
“You the landlord?” I asked.
“Yep.”
“I need a room.”
“You workin’?”
“I’m a writer.”
“You don’t look like a writer.”
“What do they look like?”
He didn’t answer. Then he said, "$2.50 a week.”
“Can I see it?”
He belched, then said, “Foller me . . .”
We walked down a long hall. There was no hall rug. The boards creaked
and sank as we walked on them. I heard a man’s voice from one of the rooms. “Suck me, you piece of shit!”
“Three dollars,” I heard a woman’s voice.
“Three dollars? I’ll give you a bloody asshole!”
He slapped her hard, she screamed. We walked on.
“The place is in back,” the guy said, “but you are allowed to use the
house bathroom.”
There was a shack in back with four doors. He walked up to #3 and opened it. We walked in. There was a cot, a blanket, a small dresser and a little stand. On the stand was a hotplate.
“You got a hotplate here,” he said.
“That’s nice.”
“$2.50 in advance.”
I paid him.
“I’ll give you your receipt in the morning.”
“Fine.”
“What’s your name?”
“Chinaski.”
“I’m Connors.”
He slipped a key off his key ring and gave it to me.
“We run a nice quiet place here. I want to keep it that way.”
“Sure.”
I closed the door behind him. There was a single light overhead,
unshaded. Actually the place was fairly clean. Not bad. I got up, went
outside and locked the door behind me, walked through the back yard to an
alley.
I shouldn’t have given that guy my real name, I thought. I might have
killed my little dark friend over on Temple Street.
There was a long wooden stairway which went down the side of a cliff
and led to the street below. Quite romantic. I walked along until I saw a
liquor store. I was going to get my drink. I bought two bottles of wine and
I felt hungry too so I purchased a large bag of potato chips.
Back at my place, I undressed, climbed onto my cot, leaned against the
wall, lit a cigarette and poured a wine. I felt good. It was quiet back
there. I couldn’t hear anybody in any of the other rooms in my shack. I had
to take a piss, so I put on my shorts, went around the back of the shack and
let go. From up there I could see the lights of the city. Los Angeles was a
good place, there were many poor people, it would be easy to get lost among them. I went back inside, climbed back on the cot. As long as a man had wine
and cigarettes he could make it. I finished off my glass and poured another. Maybe I could live by my wits. The eight-hour day was impossible, yet
almost everybody submitted to it. And the war, everybody was talking about
the war in Europe. I wasn’t interested in world history, only my own. What
crap. Your parents controlled your growing-up period, they pissed all over
you. Then when you got ready to go out on your own, the others wanted to
stick you into a uniform so you could get your ass shot off. The wine tasted
great. I had another.
The war. Here I was a virgin. Could you imagine getting your ass blown
off for the sake of history before you even knew what a woman was? Or owned an automobile? What would I be protecting? Somebody else. Somebody else who didn’t give a shit about me. Dying in a war never stopped wars from happening.
I could make it. I could win drinking contests, I could gamble. Maybe I could pull a few holdups. I didn’t ask much, just to be left alone.
I finished the first bottle of wine and started in on the second.
Halfway through the second bottle, I stopped, stretched out. My first night in my new place. It was all right. I slept.
I was awakened by the sound of a key in the door. Then the door pushed open. I sat up on the cot. A man started to step in.
“GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE!” I screamed. He left fast. I heard him running off. I got up and slammed the door.
People did that. They rented a place, stopped paying rent and kept the key, sneaking back to sleep there if it was vacant or robbing the place if the occupant was out. Well, he wouldn’t be back. He knew if he tried
it again that I’d bust his sack. I went back to my cot and had another drink. I was a little nervous. I was going to have to pick up a knife. I finished my drink, poured another, drank that and went back to sleep.