In the betting line the other <br />day <br />man behind me asked, <br />"are you Henry <br />Chinaski?" <br /> <br />"uh huh," I answered. <br /> <br />"I like your books," he went <br />on. <br /> <br />"thanks," I answered. <br /> <br />"who do you like in this <br />race?" he asked. <br /> <br />"uh uh," I answered. <br /> <br />"I like the 4 horse," he <br />told me. <br /> <br />I made my bet and went back <br />to my seat.... <br /> <br />the next race I am standing in <br />line and here is this same man <br />standing behind me <br />again. <br />there are at least 50 lines at <br />the windows but <br />he has to find mine <br />again. <br /> <br />"I think this race favors the <br />closers," he said to the back of <br />my neck. "the track looks <br />heavy." <br /> <br />"listen," I said, not looking <br />around, "it's the kiss of death to <br />talk about horses at the <br />track..." <br /> <br />"what kind of rule is that?" <br />he asked. "God doesn't make <br />rules..." <br /> <br />I turned around and looked at him: <br />"maybe not, but I <br />do." <br /> <br />after the next race <br />I got in line, glanced behind <br />me: <br />he was not there: <br /> <br />lost another reader. <br /> <br />I lose 2 or 3 each <br />week. <br /> <br />fine. <br /> <br />let 'em go back to <br />Kafka.<br /><br />Charles Bukowski<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/i-like-your-books/
