Happy Birthday Bukowski!

Who would have known that I would be wishing Bukowski happy birthday here today when I watched drunken friends 30 some years ago call him in San Pedro after getting his telephone number from calling information?

From Charles Bukowski’s Pulp:

I pressed the button.  I heard footsteps.  Then the door opened.

She was a stunner.  In a red dress.  Green eyes.  Long dark hair.  A smell of mint.  Her lips smiled.

“Mr. Belane, please come in.”

I followed her into the room.  Then there was a hard object in my back.

“Freeze, motherfucker!  Except your arms.  Stretch them up!  See if you can reach the ceiling, motherfucker!”

“You black” I asked.

“What?”

“Only blacks say motherfucker”

He was patting me down.  He found my piece, took it.

“All right, you can turn around now, Mr. Belane.”

I turned to look at him.  Big guy but white.

“But you are white,” I said.

“So are you,” he said.

“Well, I’ll be a motherfucker,” I said.