Free The Twilight of the Bums by Raymond Federman, George Chambers

ministrations, yes, great ease, ease and travel, and as in all life, the wish for it to continue, to go on, just for a little while more, a bit more, precisely now as it is ending, how one wants more, no matter how little, down to a hair. Seventeen, the bus trip to the real Chicago hot-dog stand. Eighteen, the proprioceptive experience in the lurching bus, the boys banging into each other and other passengers. And, oh yes, how could we have forgotten the shoeshine performed at the same time as the haircut, not to mention the possibility of a manicure.

A BIT OF HISTORY
    Our two friends first met in a hastily trenched shallow foxhole in Yongdong-po as Chesty Puller’s men crossed the Han River and drove into the capital at Seoul.
    No, that’s a form of the truth, but not the exact historical fact.
    The bums met when Bum Two flew over to Tachikawa from Kimpo in a C-47 and traded his load of cigarette cartons, all Camels, for several cases of Old Kentucky Waka Bum One had traded for bootleg film.
    This is closer, a form of the truth to be sure, but still lacking the actual ingredient of verifiable facts (lots of historical events are of dubious credibility).
    Perhaps they met at an R&R resort in Kobe, that sounds almost right. One would have jeeped down from Yokohama and maybe Two would have flown over from Kimpo, maybe …
    The real truth, however, but please keep it to yourselves, is that our two bums met one summer night in a house of pleasure in Shimbashi, sharing the same bottle of booze, the same room, and the same girl. The booze was Old Kentucky Bourbon, the room bare and nondescript, the girl said her name was Sumikosan, that she would love them both equally forever and ever.
    Ahso deska .

DUEL AT SEA

    â™¦
    T he
    O ld guys
    A re out on
    T he bay fishing
    I n one of their grand-
    S on’s flatboats, a modest
    U nstable affair with a two
    H orse-power trolling motor and
    A pair of collapsible oars in the bow.
    I t is their birthday and they are not feeling
    T oo happy about that -- the years are adding up
    A nd the old guys have enough reasons to be taking
    T hem seriously, to feel the sad toll of the bell vibrating
    T hrough their bones in that special twofold way that bells
    V ibrate, as the poet himself told: Erst in dem Doppelbereich
    W erden die Stimmen ewig und mild sein. Poets are so perceptive.
    S ea bass is the catch they are after today -- the famous trophy fish
    O n the endangered list and thus dangerous to the boys too (boys is
    W hat they are beginning to be called. A very depressing sign, indeed).
    A nyway (it is hard not to digress when telling a fish story), the old guys
    A re not feeling well at all, they are feeling old: the government is sending
    T hem forms, burial societies want to stop by for a chat, Sears has sent them its
    M ature Wisdom catalog of prosthetic appliances, canes, crutches, handles for the bathtub,
    M agnifying-glasses, inflatable rings for the toilet seat, ice-packs for sore body parts, aspirin.

    Anyway, heck, the ocean this late afternoon is especially dark, almost black, even though a full May sun is upon
    it. From the west, the boys hear the sound of a fast approaching power boat, one of those superfast
    cigarette jobbies drug runners use. The glare is such they cannot see it and they commence to worry some, thinking
    the speeding boat might run them down. The danger implicit in this moment cheers the old guys up .
    Just then the power boat comes into view, a bevy of lovely women on its bow, who, when they see
    the old fishers, take off their bikinis and toss them into the water to give the boys a visual treat .
    Damn, damn. Then they are gone, like all visions of loveliness, zerfliest wie Eitelschaum ,
    disappeared in a foamy frothy wake that looks like whale sperm (to some viewers) .
    Gosh, what a story. The old guys are standing up, screaming at the cigarette
    boat to turn back, they are all excited, their flatboat, now surrounded on
    all sides by the empty