Charles Bukowski

One night I was coming around the corner after sneaking down to the cafeteria for a pack of smokes. And there was a face I knew.

It was Tom Moto! The guy I had subbed with under The Stone!

“Moto, you motherfuck!” I said.

“Hank!” he said.

We shook hands.

“Hey, I was thinking of you! Jonstone is retiring this month. Some of us are holding a farewell party for him. You know, he always liked to fish. We’re going to take him out in a rowboat. Maybe you’d like to come along and throw him overboard, drown him. We’ve got a nice deep lake.”

“No, shit, I just don’t even want to look at him.”

“But you’re invited.”

Moto was grinning from asshole to eyebrow. Then I looked at his shirt: a supervisor’s badge.

“Oh no, Tom.”

“Hank, I’ve got 4 kids. They need me for bread and butter.”

“All right, Tom,” I said. Then I walked off.

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