Free What Matters Most is How Well You Walk Through the Fire by Charles Bukowski Page A

night?”
    â€œwho?”
    â€œ them! they were playin’ that shit all night!
    I couldn’t sleep! they played until one-thirty!
    didn’t cha hear ’em?”
    â€œno, but I’m in the back, Barry, you’re up
    front.”
    we live in east Hollywood among the massage parlors,
    adult bookstores and the sex film theatres.
    â€œyeah,” says Barry. “I don’t know what this neighborhood
    is comin’ to! ya know those other people in the front
    unit?”
    â€œyes.”
    â€œwell, I saw through their curtains! and ya know what
    they were doin’?”
    â€œno, Barry.”
    â€œ this! ” he says and then takes his right forefinger and
    pokes it against a vein in his left arm.
    â€œreally?”
    â€œyeah! and if it ain’t that , now we got all these
    drunks in the neighborhood!”
    â€œlook, Barry, I’ve got to get to the racetrack.”
    â€œaw’ right. but ya know what happened?”
    â€œno, Barry.”
    â€œa cop stopped me on my Moped, and guess why?”
    â€œspeeding?”
    â€œno! he claimed I had to have a license to drive a Moped!
    that’s stupid! he gave me a ticket! I almost smashed him
    in the face!”
    â€œoh yeah?”
    â€œyeah! I almost smashed him!”
    â€œBarry, I’ve got to make the first race.”
    â€œhow much does it cost you to get in?”
    â€œfour dollars and twenty-five cents.”
    â€œI got into the Pomona County Fair for a dollar.”
    â€œall right, Barry.”
    the motor has been running. I put it into first and pull
    out. in the rearview mirror I see him walk
    back across the lawn.
    Brownie is waiting for him,
    wagging his tail.
    his mother is inside waiting.
    maybe Barry will slam her against the refrigerator
    thinking about that cop.
    or maybe they’ll play checkers.
    I find the Hollywood freeway
    then the Pasadena freeway.
    life has been tough on Barry:
    he’s 24
    looks 38
    but it all evens out finally:
    he’s aged a good many other people
    too.

the dangerous ladies
    they come visit and
    sit across from me and talk
    and their voices are very loud
    and they laugh too much
    and soon I have a headache
    as they tell me about their men
    how they had to throw this one out
    and how the other one tried to
    kill himself when they left him,
    and they talk on
    smiling
    laughing
    nodding
    and most of them are a little bit
    heavy and a little bit
    blonde
    and after they leave
    I think about the men who needed them:
    those are the kind of men who would consider
    turning on the gas if they lost their jobs
    as stock boys at
    Sears-Roebuck.
    those are men who need women like they once
    needed their mothers.
    those are men who need loud laughing
    wenches of little
    spiritual or physical
    attraction.
    and the women feast on those men
    like candy
    like peanuts
    like sunflower seeds
    and throw away the wrappers and shells
    as they tell others of their womanly
    conquests
    while holding a warm can of Coors in one hand
    and a Marlboro in the other.

sloppy love
    Sally was a sloppy
    leaver. she was good with farewell
    notes,
    she wrote them in a large
    indignant hand.
    Sally was always indignant, she was
    good at that.
    and she always took most of her
    clothes,
    but I’d
    sit and look about—
    and there’d be a pink slipper
    under the bed.
    I’d
    get down under the bed
    to get that pink slipper to
    throw it in the trash
    and next to the pink slipper
    I’d find a pair of stained
    panties.
    and there were hairpins everywhere:
    in the ashtray, on the dresser, in the
    bathroom, and her magazines were also
    everywhere with their exotic headlines:
    MAN KIDNAPS GIRL, THEN
    THROWS HER BODY FROM
    400 FOOT CLIFF.
    9 YEAR OLD BOY RAPES
    4 WOMEN IN GREYHOUND    DEPOT RESTROOM.
    Sally was a sloppy leaver.
    in the top drawer next to the Kleenex
    I’d find all the notes I’d written her,
    neatly bound with rubber
    bands.
    and she was