Free Tales of Ordinary Madness by Charles Bukowski Page B

Back to the family – if the Dodgers won, they won. If a man landed on the moon, they landed on the moon. But let a starving man ask them for a dime – no identification, fuck you, shithead. I mean, when they were in civvies. There hasn’t been a starving man yet who ever asked a cop for a dime. Our record is clear.
    Then I was pushed through the gristmill. After being 30 yards from my door. After being the only human in a house full of 59 people.
    There I was, once again, in this type of long line of the somehow guilty. The young guys didn’t know what was coming. They were mixed up with this thing called THE CONSTITUTION and their RIGHTS. The young cops, both in the city tank and the county tank, got their training on the drunks. They had to show they had it. While I was watching they took one guy in an elevator and rode him up and down, up and down, and when he got out, you hardly knew who he was, or what he had been – a black screaming about Human Rights. Then they got a white guy, screaming something about CONSTITUTIONAL RIGHTS; four or five of them got him, and they rushed him off his feet so fast he couldn’t walk, and when they brought him back they leaned him against a wall, and he just stood there trembling, these red welts all over his body, he stood there trembling and shivering.
    I got my photo taken all over again. Fingerprinted all over again.
    They took me down to the drunk tank, opened that door. After that, it was just a matter of looking for floorspace among the 150 men in the room. One shitpot. Vomit and piss everywhere. I found a spot among my fellow men. I was Charles Bukowski, featured in the literary archives of the University of California at Santa Barbara. Somebody there thought I was a genius. I stretched out on the boards. Heard a young voice. A boy’s voice.
    â€œMista, I’ll suck your dick for a quarter!”
    They were supposed to take all your change, bills, ident, keys, knives, so forth, plus cigarettes, and then you had the property slip. Which you either lost or sold or had stolen from you. But there was always still money and cigarettes about.
    â€œSorry, lad,” I told him, “they took my last penny.”
    Four hours later I managed to sleep.
    There.
    Best man at a Zen wedding, and I’d bet they, the bride and groom, hadn’t even fucked that night. But somebody had been.

REUNION
    I got off the bus at Rampart, then walked one block back to Coronado, went up the little hill, went up the steps to the walk, walked along the walk to the doorway of my upper court. I stood in front of that door quite a while, feeling the sun on my arms. Then I found the key, opened the door and began climbing the stairway.
    â€œHello?” I heard Madge.
    I didn’t answer. I walked slowly up. I was very white and somewhat weak.
    â€œHello? Who is it?”
    â€œDon’t get jumpy, Madge, it’s just me.”
    I stood at the top of the stairway. She was sitting on the couch in an old green silk dress. She had a glass of port in her hand, port with ice cubes, the way she liked it.
    â€œBaby!” she jumped up. She seemed glad, kissing me.
    â€œOh Harry, are you really back?”
    â€œMaybe. If I last. Anybody in the bedroom?”
    â€œDon’t be silly! Want a drink?”
    â€œThey say I can’t. Have to eat boiled chicken, soft boiled eggs. They gave me a list.”
    â€œOh, the bastards. Sit down. You want a bath? Something to eat?”
    â€œNo, just let me sit down.”
    I walked over and sat in the rocker.
    â€œHow much money is left?” I asked her.
    â€œFifteen dollars.”
    â€œYou spent it fast.”
    â€œWell –”
    â€œHow much time we got on the rent?”
    â€œTwo weeks. I couldn’t find a job.”
    â€œI know. Look, where’s the car? I didn’t see it out there.”
    â€œOh God, bad news. I loaned it to somebody. They crashed in the front. I was hoping to get