Charles Bukowski

the price

drinking 15 dollar champagne—
Cordon Rouge—with the hookers.
 
one is named Georgia and she
doesn’t like pantyhose:
I keep helping her pull up
her long dark stockings.
 
the other is Pam-prettier
but not much soul, and
we smoke and talk and I
play with their legs and
stick my bare foot into
Georgia’s open purse.
it’s filled with
bottles of pills. I
take some of the pills.
 
“listen,” I say, “one of
you has soul, the other
looks. Can’t I combine
the 2 of you? take the soul
and stick it into the looks?”
 
“you want me,” says Pam, “it
will cost you a hundred.”
 
we drink some more and Georgia
falls to the floor and can’t
get up.
 
I tell Pam that I like her
earrings very much. Her
hair is long and a natural
red.
“I was only kidding about
the hundred,” she says.
 
“oh,” I say, “what will it cost
me?”
 
she lights her cigarette with
my lighter and looks at me
through the flame:
 
her eyes tell me.
 
“look,” I say, “I don’t think I
can ever pay that price again.”
 
she crosses her legs
inhales on her cigarette
 
as she exhales she smiles
and says, “sure you can.”
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