Charles Bukowski

my friend, the parking lot attendant

—he’s a dandy
—small moustache
—usually sucking on a cigar
 
he tends to lean into cars as he
transacts business
 
first time I met him, he said,
“hey! ya gonna make a
killin’?”
 
“maybe,” I answered.
 
next meeting it was:
“hey, Ramrod! what’s
happening?”
 
“very little,” I told
him.
 
next time I had my girlfriend with me
and he just
grinned.
 
next time I was
alone.
 
“hey,” he asked, “where’s the young
chick?”
 
“I left her at home....”
 
“Bullshit! I’ll bet she dumped
you!”
 
and the next time
he really leaned into the car:
 
“what’s a guy like you doing driving a
BMW! I’ll bet you inherited your
money, you didn’t get this car with your
brains!”
 
“how’d you guess?” I
answered.
 
that was some weeks ago.
I haven’t seen him lately.
feIlow like that, chances are he just moved on
to better
things.
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