I went with two ladies
down to Venice
to look for antique furniture.
I parked in back of the store
and went in with them.
$125 for a clock, $700 for 6 chairs.
I stopped looking.
the ladies moved around
looking at everything.
the ladies had class.
I waved goodbye to one of the ladies
and walked out.
it was Sunday and the bar
wasn’t much better,
everybody was nervous and young
and blonde and pale.
I finished my drink, got 4 beers
at the liquor store
and sat in my car drinking them.
finishing the 4th beer
the ladies came out.
they asked me if I was all right.
I told them that every experience
meant something
and that they had pulled me out of
my usual murky
current.
the one I knew best had bought a table
with a marble top for $100.
she owned her own business and was a
civilized person.
she was civilized enough to know a neighbor
who had a van
and while I sat in her apartment drinking
1974 Zeller Schwarze Katz
they went down and got the table.
later she wanted to know what I thought about
the table and I said I thought it was all right,
sometimes I lost one hundred dollars at the
racetrack. we watched tv in bed and later
that night I couldn’t come. I think it was
because I was thinking about that marble table.
I’m sure it was. I don’t have any antique marble
tables at my place, I almost never have any sex trouble at
my place. sometimes but
very seldom.
I don’t understand the whole antique
business
I’m sure it’s a giant
con.
Other works by Charles Bukowski...
