SNAP SHOTS

Charles Bukowski

Charles Bukowski

Charles Bukowski

Charles Bukowski
Fuck! What can you say about Charles Bukowski? He was the poet of the low life people who has been published in many languages. I started his book “Post Office,” and it was the beginning of a never-ending quest to digest as much Bukowski as I could but I found too much Bukowski only caused intestinal and stomach problems and I threw up his poems. But like all good poetry I finally learned to digest them with Pepto. It took a lot of Pepto to read Bukowski. He was a true poet who never looked at other poets for inspiration. For inspiration he looked in the bathroom of dive bars, pool halls with mold on the tables, 3rd Street in Los Angeles, Airports with no planes, and a forest after a forest fire. He held nothing back as his poetry hit a person in the face like a brick. His addiction was not just his poetry but his life. He was a mean poet at his readings challenging his audience with his words. Some of his poetry readings ended up being riots, the rest of them were worse. Most of the scars on his body came from his poetry readings. If he didn’t get kicked in the balls then he kicked someone in the balls and if they didn’t have balls he kicked them anyway. To Bukowski that was a successful poetry reading. When I find someone who reads Bukowski, I consider them a friend. I guess that may be a reason that I don’t have many friends. Fuck! What can I say about Charles Bukowski? I love Bukowski and as Charles said it best, “Love is a dog from Hell!”

Knotty Pine

Charles Bukowski

Charles Bukowski

Knotty Pine & Leslie
Knotty pine was the walls of our entire house because my father had a thing about making our home look like a cabin inside. Our house never had the comfort of a cabin, but this story is about another knotty pine. I knew more than I should know about the Knotty Pine Motel and what was going on there. This motel was owned by Guido, an ex-inmate, who owned several buildings in town. But the action of the Knotty Pine was where the ladies of the night took their customers to satisfy their needs. Leslie gave me the inside information on what was going on at the Knotty Pine Motel and that included the names of her customers and what they wanted. I was going to write Leslie’s biography, but she slipped away from me. I met her while talking to her when I was pumping gas. Several rough looking characters approached her and asked, “Are you Leslie?” I thought I might have to defend her from these thug looking characters but as it was, they were undercover police, and she was arrested, charged with prostitution and taken to the city jail. The next day she was out working again, and we finished our conversation that we had started the night before. Arresting Leslie was only a token arrest for even some of the police were her customers and they could not afford to have her removed from their lives. She was my connection to the Knotty Pine Motel and Guido knew that Leslie and I had a friendship and he always told her that I was a decent guy from a decent family as my grandmother used to babysit Guido. Guido told Leslie to always be kind to me and she was the epitome of kindness. Guido will be another story in my life. I hope Leslie who slipped away from me is doing well with the money she saved from her experiences in Wyoming. She had a major account at one of the Oldest Financial Institutions in the city. A banker, who was another customer of hers, helped her take care of her money. She showed me a statement where she had $125,000 in the bank and was still working. Leslie fell on the ice and broke her leg but continued to work on crutches. Nothing could hold her back. The police department sent her flowers when she broke her leg. The banker made sure she got to the bank with her money. The doctor who fixed her broken leg never sent her a bill, what a kind doctor, also a kind customer. Leslie always had the retention of an attorney who would take care of her day and night, but it also was a two-way street where she took care of him day and night. Leslie did not portray her occupation she was 5’2” and 105 lbs, the girl next door look was in her eyes and your eyes too when you looked at her. She began most of her working days and nights in jeans and a T-shirt. Although she was known for her wardrobe change behind closed doors. Unpredictable was the charm she possessed. Sometimes she wore a shirt that said, “Once is not Enough” another shirt said, “I Don’t have an Addiction, but I am Addictive!” and she was. We had lunch once a week at the New Grand Café I turned her on to Chili Meat, a Wyoming dish. She had a charisma that collected customers from all walks of life. She kept a book of her customers, and I knew most of the names in it. Her customers were not drifters but hometown boys. She would bring it to lunch with details of events. Leslie was a detailed person. She called me one day to get her out of jail. I asked her what it was going to take to bond her out and she replied, “It would just be a ride. The police know better to charge me a bond. I am a great ‘friend’ of most of them, they cannot ‘afford’ to make me post a bond.” Every time we had lunch at the New Grand Café someone picked up the ticket. Leslie was known around town and did not hide from her occupation. Leslie proved to me that right and wrong are two words with little meaning. She called herself “The Cat:” Always on the prowl and very friendly to those who befriended her. She was my friend.