Post Office. Chapter VI: 5
I found that the only way I could keep from dizzy-spelling into my case was to get up and take a walk now and then.
Fazzio, a supervisor who had the station at the time, saw me walking up to one of the rare water fountains.
“Look, Chinaski, every-time I see you, you’re walking!”
“That’s nothing,” 1 said, “every-time I see you, you’re walking.”
“But that’s part of my job. Walking is part of my job. I have to do it.”
“Look,” I said, “it’s part of my job too. I have to do it. If I stay on that stool much longer I am going to leap up on top of those tin cases and start running around whistling Dixie from my asshole and Mammy’s Little Children Love Shortnin’ Bread through the frontal orifice.”
“All right, Chinaski, forget it.”
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