Post Office. Chapter III: 14
In the morning I heard her walking around. She walked and she walked and she walked.
It was about 10:30 a.m. I was sick. I didn’t want to face her. 15 more minutes. Then I’d get out.
She shook me. “Listen, I want you to get out of here before my girlfriend shows!”
“So what? I’ll screw her too.”
“Yeah,” she laughed, “yeah.”
I got up. Coughed, gagged. Slowly got into my clothes.
“You make me feel like a wash-out,” I told her. “I can’t be that bad! There must be some good in me.”
I finally got dressed. I went to the bathroom and threw some
water on my face, combed my hair. If I could only comb that face, I thought, but I can’t.
I came out.
“Vi.” “Yes?”
“Don’t be too pissed. It wasn’t you. It was the booze. It has happened before.”
“All right, then, you shouldn’t drink so much. No woman likes to come in second to a bottle.”
“Why don’t you bet me to place then?”
“Oh, stop it!”
“Listen, you need any money, babe?”
I reached into my wallet and took out a twenty. I handed it to her.
“My, you are sweet!”
Her hand touched my cheek, she kissed me gently along the side of the mouth.
“Drive carefully now.”
“Sure, babe.”
I drove carefully all the way to the racetrack.
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