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out with the beercans.
how many men in America bought those stupid things?
or then you can pass half a hundred fuck machines in a 10
minute walk on almost any main sidewalk of America - the only
difference being that they pretended that they were human.
poor Indian Mike. with that 20 inch dead cock.
all the poor Indian Mikes. all the climbers into Space. all the
whores of Vietnam and Washington.
poor Tanya, her belly had been a hog's belly. veins the veins of
a dog. she rarely shatted or pissed, she had just fucked - heart, voice
and tongue borrowed from others - there were only supposed to be
17 possible organ transplants at that time. Von B. was far ahead of
them.
poor Tanya, who had only eaten a little - mostly cheap cheese
and raisins. she had had no desire for money or property or large
new cars or overexpensive homes. she had never read the evening
paper. had no desire for colored television, new hats, rain boots,
backfence conversation with idiot wives; nor had she desired a hus-
band who was a doctor, a stockbroker, a congressman or a cop.
and the guy at the gas station keeps asking me, "hey, what
happened to that thing you brought down here one day and blew up
with the air hose?"
but he doesn't ask anymore. I buy my gas at a new place. I
don't even get my hair cut anymore where I saw that magazine with
the Von Brashlitz rubber dolly sex ad. I am trying to forget every-
thing.
what would you do?
===
The first three months of my marriage to Sarah were acceptable but I'd
say a little after that our troubles began. She was a good cook, and for the
first time in years I was eating well. I began to put on weight. And Sarah
began to make remarks.
"Ah, Henry, you're beginning to look like a turkey they're plumping for
Thanksgiving."
"Ats right, baby," I told her.
I was a shipping clerk in an auto parts warehouse and the pay was
hardly sufficient.
My only joys were eating, drinking beer and going to bed with Sarah.
Not exactly a
rounded life but a man had to take what he could get. Sarah was plenty.
Everything
about her spelled S-E-X. I had really gotten to know her at a Christmas
party for the
employees at the warehouse. Sarah was a secretary there. I noticed none
of the
fellows got near her at the party and I couldn't understand it. I had
never seen a sexier woman and she didn't act the fool either. I got close to
her and we drank and talked. She was beautiful. There was something odd
about her eyes, though. They just kept looking into you and the eyelids
didn't seem to blink. When she went to the restroom I walked over to Harry
the truckdriver.
"Listen, Harry," I asked, "how come none of the boys make a play for
Sarah?"
"She's a witch, man, a real witch. Stay away."
"There's no such thing as witches, Harry. All that has been disproven.
All those women they burned at the stake in the old days, it was a cruel and
a horrible mistake. There's no such thing as a witch."
"Well, maybe they did burn a lot of women wrongly, I can't say. But
this bitch is a witch, take it from me."
"All she needs, Harry, is understanding."
"All she needs," said Harry, "is a victim."
"How do you know?"
"Facts," said Harry. "Two guys here, Manny, a salesman. And Lincoln, a
clerk." "What happened?"
"They just kind of disappeared in front of our eyes, only so slowly---
you could see them going, vanishng..."
"What do you mean?"
"I don't want to talk about it. You'd think I was crazy."
Harry walked off. Then Sarah came out of the lady's room. She looked
beautiful.
"What did Harry tell you about me?" she asked.
"How did you know I was talking to Harry?"
"I know," she said.
"He didn't say much."
"Whatever he said, forget it. It's bullshit. I won't let him have any
and he's jealous. He
likes to badmouth people."
"I'm not concerned with Harry's opinions," I told her.
"You and I are going to make it, Henry," she said.
She went to my apartment with me after the party and I'm telling you
I've never been laid like that. She was the woman of all women. It was a
month or so later that we were married. She quit her job right off, but I
didn't say anything because I was so glad to have her. Sarah made her own
clothes, did her own hair. She was a remarkable woman. Very remarkable.
But, as I said, it was after about 3 months that she began making these
remarks about my weight. At first they were just genial little remarks, then
she began to get scornful about it. I came home one night and she said,
"Take off your damned clothes!"
"What, my darling?"
"You heard me, bastard! Strip!"
Sarah was a little different then than I had ever seen her. I took off
my clothes and underwear and threw them on the couch. She stared at me.
"Awful," she said, "what a lot of shit!"
"What, dear?"
"I said you look just like a big tub of shit!"
"Listen, honey, what's wrong? You got the rag on tonight?"
"Shut up! Look at that stuff hanging at your sides!"
She was right. There seemed to be a little pouch of fat on each side,
hanging just above the hips. Then she doubled up her fists and hit me hard
several times on each of the pouches.
"We've got to punch that shit! Break up the fat tissues, the cells..."
She punched me again, several times.
"Ow! Baby, that hurts!"
"Good! Now, hit yourself!"
"Hit myself?"
"Go ahead, damn you!"
I hit myself several times, quite hard. When I was finished the things
were still there, though now they looked quite red.
"We're going to get that shit off of you," she told me.
I figured that is was love and decided to cooperate...
Sarah began counting my calories. She took away my fried foods, bread
and potatoes, salad dressing, but I kept my beer. I had to show her who was
wearing the pants in our family.
"No, damn it," I said, "I won't give up my beer. I love you very much
but the beer stays!"
"All right," said Sarah, "we'll make it work anyway."
"Make what work?"
"I mean, get that shit off you, get you down to a desirable size."
"And what's a desirable size?" I asked.
"You'll see."
Each night when I got home she'd ask me the same questionl
"Did you punch your sides today?"
"Oh, hell yes!"
"How many times?"
"400 punches on both sides, hard."
I would walk down the streets punching at my sides. People looked at me
but it didn't matter after a while because I knew that I was accomplishing
something and they weren't."
Things were working, marvelously. I came down from 225 to 197. Then
from 197 to 184. I felt ten years younger. People remarked about how good I
looked. Everybody except Harry the truck driver. Of course, he was just
jealous because he never got into Sarah's panties. His tough shit.
One night on the scales I was down to 179.
I said to Sarah, "Don't you think we've come down enough? Look at me!"
The things on my sides were long gone. My belly hung in. My cheeks looked as
if I were sucking them in.
"According to the charts," said Sarah, "according to my charts, you've
not yet reached a desirable size."
"Look," I told her, "I'm six feet tall. What is the desireable weight?"
And then Sarah answered me quite strangely.
"I didn't say 'desirable weight'," I said, 'desireable size'. This is
the New Age, the Atomic Age, and most important the Age of Overpopulation. I
am the Saviour of the World. I have the answer to the Overpopulation
Explosion. Explosion. Let others work on Pollution. Solving Overpopulation
is the root; it will solve Pollution and many other things too."
"What the hell are you talking about?" I asked, ripping the cap off a
bottle of beer.
"Don't worry about it," she answered, "you'll find out."
Then I began to notice, as I stepped on the scales, that although I was
still losing weight I didn't seem to be getting any thinner. It was strange.
And then I noticed that my pantscuffs were hanging down over my shoes---ever
so slightly, and that my shirtcuffs were hanging down a bit over my wrists.
When I drove to work I notcied that the steering wheel seemed further away.
I had to pull the car seat up a notch.
One night I got on the scales.
155.
"Look here, Sarah."
"Yes, darling?"
"There's something I don't understand."
"What?"
"I seem to be shrinking."
"Shrinking?"
"Oh, you fool! That's incredible! How can a man shrink? Do you really
think that your diet is shinking your bones? Bones melt! Rduction of
calories only reduces fat. Don't be an idiot! Shrinking? Impossible!"
Then she laughed.
"All right," I said, "come here. Here's a pencil. Now I'm gonna stand
against this wall. My mother used to do this with me as a kid when I was
growing. Now put a line right there on the wall where the pencil hits after
you place it straight across the top of my head."
"All right, silly," she said.
She drew the line.
A week later I was down to 131. It was happening faster and faster.
"Come here, Sarah."
"Yes, silly boy."
"Now, draw the line."
She drew the line, I turned around.
"Now see here, I've lost 24 pounds and 8 inches in the last week. I'm
melting away! I'm now five feet two. This is madness! Madness! I've had
enough. I've caught you cutting my pants legs, my shirt sleeves. It won't
work. I'm going to begin eating again. I think that you are some kind of
witch!"
It was soon after that the boss called me into the office
I climbed into the chair across from his desk.
"Henry Markson Jones II?"
"Of course, sir."
"Well, Jones, we've been watching you carefully. I'm afraid you just
don't fit this job anymore. We hate to see you go like this...I mean , we
hate to let you go like this, but..."
"Look, sir, I always do my best."
"We know you do, Jones, but you're just not doing a man's job back
there anymore."
He let me go. Of course, I knew that I would get my unemployment
compensation.
But I thought it was small of him to let me go like that...
I stayed home with Sarah. Which made it worse---she fed me. It got so I
couldn't reach the refrigerator door anymore. And then she put me on a small
silver chain.
Soon I was two feet tall. I had to use a potty chair to shit. But she
still let me have my beer, as promised.
"Ah, my little pet," she said, "you're so small and cute!"
"I'm not a duck, I'm a man!"
"Oh my little sweet man-y-man!"
She picked me up and kissed me with her red lips...
Sarah got me down to being 6 inches tall. She carried me to the store
in her purse. I could look out at the people through the little air holes
she had poked in her purse. I will say one thing for the woman. She still
allowed me to have my beer. I drank it by the thimble. A quart would last me
a month. In the old days it was gone in 45 minutes. I was resigned. I knew
that if she wished to do so she could make me vanish entirely. Better 6
inches than nothing. Even a little life becomes very dear when you near the
end of life. So, I amused Sarah. It was all I could do. She made me little
clothes and shoes and put me on top of the radio and turned on the music and
said, "Dance, little one! Dance, my dunce! Dance, my fool!"
Well, I couldn't collect my unemployment compensation so I danced on
top of the radio while she clapped her hands and laughed.
You know, spiders frightened me terribly and flies were the size of
giant eagles, and if a cat ever caught me it would torture me like a small
mouse. But life was still dear to me. I danced and sang and hung on. No
matter how little a man has he will find that he will always settle for
less. When I shit on the rug I would get spanked. Sarah put little pieces of
paper around and I shit on them. And I ripped off little pieces of that
paper to wipe my butt with. It felt like cardboard. I got hemorrhoids.
Couldn't sleep nights. Feelings of inferiority, of being trapped. Paranoia?
Anyhow, I felt good when I sang and danced and Sarah let me have my beer.
She kept me at an exact six inches for some reason. What the reason was, it
was beyond me. As almost everything else was beyond me.
I made up songs for Sarah, that's what I called them: Songs for Sarah:
"o, I'm just a little snot,
that's all right until I get hot,
then there's nothing to stick it in
except the fucking head of a pin!
Sarah would clap her hands and laugh.
"if ya wanna be an admir in the queen's navy
just be a clark for the fuckin' nark,
grow 6 inches tall and when the Queen goes to pee
you can peek up inter drippin' pussy..."
And Sarah would clap her hands and laugh. Well, that was all right. It
had to be...
But one night something very disgusting happened. I was singing and
dancing and Sarah was on the bed, naked, clapping her hands, drinking wine
and laughing. I was putting on a good show. One of my best. But, as always,
the top of the radio got hot and started burning my feet. I couldn't stand
it anymore.
"Look, baby," I said, "I've had it. Take me down. Gimme a beer. No
wine. You drink that cheapass wine. Gimme a thimble of that good beer."
"Sure, sweetie," she said, "you put on a wonderful show tonight. If
Manny and Lincoln had acted as nice as you, they'd be here tonight. But they
didn't sing or dance, the brooded. And worst of all, they objected to the
Final Act."
"And what was the Final Act?" I asked.
"Now, sweetie, just drink your beer and relax. I want you to enjoy the
Final Act. You are evidently a much more talented person than Manny or
Lincoln. I do believe that we can have the Culmination of the Opposites."
"O, hell yes," I said, draining my beer. "Now give me a refill. And
just what is the Culmination of the Opposites?"
"Enjoy your beer, little sweetie, you'll know soon enough."
I finished my beer and then the disgusting thing happened, a most
disgusting thing. Sarah picked me up and placed me down between her legs,
which she spread open just a bit. Then I was facing a forest of hair. I
hardened my back and neck muscles, sensing what was to come. I was jammed
into darkness and stench. I heard Sarah moan. Then Sarah began to move me
slowly back and forth. As I said, the stench was unbearable, and it was
difficult to breathe, but somehow there was air in there---various side-
pockets and drafts of oxygen. Now and then my head, the top of my head
bumped The Man in the Boat and then Sarah would let out an extra-illuminated
moan.
Sarah began moving me faster and faster. My skin began to burn, it
became harder to breathe; the stench became worse. I could hear her panting.
It occured to me that the sooner I ended the thing the less I would suffer.
Each time I was rammed forward I would arch my back and neck, tilt
everything of me into this hooking curve of a thing, bumping The Man in the
Boat.
Suddenly I was ripped out of that terrible tunnel. Sarah held me up to
her face.
"Come, you damned fiend of a thing! Come!" she demanded.
Sarah was totally drunk on wine and passion. I felt myself being rushed
back into the tunnel. She worked me rapidly back and forth. Then suddenly I
sucked air into my lungs to increase my size and then I gathered saliva
intlo my jaws and spit it out---once, twice, 3 times, 4, 5, six times, then
I stopped...The stench increased beyond all imagination and then, at last, I
was lifted out into the air.
Sarah lifted me into the lamplight and began kissing me all over my
head and shoulders.
"O, my darling! o, my precious little cock! I love you!"
Then she kissed me with those horrible red and painted lips. I vomited.
Then, spent in a swoon of wine and passion, she placed me between her
breasts. I rested there and listened to her heart beat. She had taken me off
of her damnd leash, that silver chain, but it didn't matter. I was hardly
free. One of her massive breasts had fallen to one side and I seemed to be
right over the heart. The heart of the witch. If I were the answer to the
Population Explosion then why hadn't she used me as more than a thing of
entertainment, a sexual toy? I stretched out there and listened to that
heart. I decided that she was a witch. Then I glanced up. Do you know what I
saw? A most amazing thing. Up in that little crevice below the headboard. A
hat pin. Yes, a hat pin, long with one of those round purple glass things at
the end of it. I walked up between her breasts, climbed her throat, got up
on her chin(after much trouble), then walked quietly across her lips, and
then she stirred a bit as I almost fell and had to grab to a nostril for
support. Very slowly I got up by the right eye--- her head was tilted
slightly to the left---and then I was up on the forehead, having gone past
the temple, and I was up into the hair---very difficult, wading through.
Then I stood and stretched---reached up and just managed to grab the hat
pin. Coming down was faster but more treacherous. I almost lost my balance
several times, carrying that hat pin. One fall and it was over. I laughed
several times because it was so ridiculous. The outcome of an office party
for the gang, Merry Christmas.
Then I was down under that massive breast again. I laid the hat pin
down and listened again. I listened for the exact sound of the heart. I
determined it to be at a spot exactly below a small brown birthmark. Then I
stood up. I picked up the hat pin with its purple glass end, beautiful in
the lamplight. And I thought, will it work? I was 6 inches tall and I judged
the hat pin to be half again longer than 1.9 inches. The heart seemed closer
than that.
I lifted the pin and plunged it in. Just below the birthmark.
Sarah rolled and convulsed. I held onto the hat pin. She almost threw
me to the floor---which by comparative size seemed a thousand feet or more
and would have killed me. I hung on. Her lips formed an odd sound.
Then she seemed to quiver all over like a woman freezing.
I reached up and jammed the remaining 3 inches of the pin down into her
chest until the beautiful purple glass head of the pin was up against her
skin.
Then Sarah was still, I listened.
I heard the heart, one two, one two, one two, one two, one...
It stopped.
And then with my little killer's hands, I clutched and gripped the
bedsheet and made my way to the floor. I was 6 inches tall and real and
frightened and hungry. I found a hole in one of the bedroom screens which
faced east and ran from ceiling to floor. I grabbed at the branch of a bush,
climbed on, clambered along the branch to the inside of the bush. Nobody
knew that Sarah was dead but I. But that had no realistic good. If I were to
go on, I would have to have something to eat. But I couldn't help wondering
how my case would be evolved in a court of law? Was I guilty? I ripped off a
leaf and tried to eat it. No good. Hardly. Then I saw the lady in the court
to the south set out a plate of catfood for her cat. I crawled out of the
bush and worked my way toward the catfood, watching for animals and
movements. It tasted worse than anything I had ever eaten but I had no
choice. I ate all the catfood I could---death tasted worse. Then I walked
over to the bush and climbed back into it.
There I was, 6 inches tall, the answer to The Population Explosionm
hanging in a bush with a bellyful of catfood.
There are details I don't want to bore you with. Escapes from cats and
dogs and rats. Feeling myself growing bit by bit. Watching them carry
Sarah's body out of there. Going in there and finding myself too small,
still, to open the refrigerator door.
The day the cat almost caught me as I ate at his bowl. I had to break
away.
I was then 8 or 10 inches tall, I was growing. I even scared pigeons.
When you scare pigeons you know that you are getting there. I simply ran
down the street one day, hiding along the shadows of buildings and down
beneath hedges and the like. I kept running and hiding until I got outside a
supermarket and I hid under a newspaper stand just outside the entrance to
the store. Then, as a big woman walked up and the electric door opened, I
walked in behind her. One of the clerks at a checkstand looked up as I
walked in behind the woman:
"Hey, what the hell's that?"
"What?" a customer asked him.
"I thought I saw something," said the clerk, "maybe not. I hope not."
I somehow sneaked back to the storeroom without being seen. I hid
behind some cartons of baked beans. That night I came out and had a fine
feed. Potato salad, pickles, ham on rye, potato chips and beer, plenty of
beer. It became about the same routine. Each day, all day, I hid in the
storeroom and at night I'd come out and have a party. But I was growing and
hiding was becoming more difficult. I got to watching the manager put the
money in the safe each night. He was the last to leave. I counted the pauses
as he put the money away each night. It seemed to be---7 right, 6 left, 4
right, 6 left, 3 right, open. I went over to the safe each night and tried
the numbers. I had to make a kind of stairway out of empty cartons in order
to get up to the dial. It didn't seem to work but I kept trying. Each night,
I mean. Meanwhile I was growing fast. Perhaps I was 3 feet tall. The store
had a small clothing section and I had to keep going into the larger sizes.
The population problem was returning. Then one night the safe opened. I had
23 thousand dollars in cash. I must have hit them the night before banking
time. I took the key the manager used in order to get out without the
burglar alarm ringing. Then I walked down the street and got a week's worth
of lodging at the Sunset Motel. I told the lady I worked as a midget in the
movies. It just seemed to bore her.
"No television or loud noises after ten p. m. That's our rule here."
She took my money, gave me a receipt and closed her door.
They key said room 103. I hadn't even looked at the room. The doors
said 98, 99, 100, 101, I was walking north toward the Hollywood Hills,
toward those mountains behind them, with the great and golden light of the
Lord shining upon me, growing.
===
** 25 BUMS IN RAGS**
you know how it is with horseplayers. you hit it hot and you
think it's all over. I had this place in back, even had my own garden,
planted all kinds of tulips, which grew, beautifully and amazingly. I
had the green hand. I had the green money. what system I had
devised I can no longer remember, but it was working and I wasn't
and that's a pleasant enough way to live. and there was Kathy.
Kathy had it. the old guy next door would actually slobber at the
mouth when he saw her. he was always knocking at the door.
"Kathy! oooh, Kathy! Kathy!"
I'd answer the door, just dressed in my shorts.
"ooooh, I thought-"
"I thought Kathy-"
"Kathy's taking a shit. any message?"
"I-bought these bones for your dog."
he had a big bag of dry chicken bones.
"feeding a dog chicken bones is like putting broken razor
blades in a child's cereal. you trying to kill my dog, fucker?"
"oh, no!"
"then jam the bones and split."
"I don't understand."
"stick that bag of chickenbones up your ass and get the hell
out of here!"
"I just thought Kathy-"
"I told you, Kathy's taking a SHIT!"
I slammed the back door on him.
"you shouldn't be so hard on the old fart, Hank, he says I
remind him of his daughter when she was young."
"all right, so he made it with his daughter. let him screw swiss
cheese. I don't want him at the door."
"I suppose you think I let him in after you go to the track?"
"I don't even wonder about that."
"what do you wonder about?"
"all I wonder is which one of you rides topside."
"you son of a bitch. you can leave now!"
I was getting on my shirt and pants, then socks and shoes.
I won't be 4 blocks away before you're locked in embrace."
she threw a book at me. I wasn't looking and the edge of the
book hit me over the right eye. a cut started and a spot of blood hit
my hand as I tied my right shoe.
"I'm sorry, Hank."
"don't get NEAR me!"
I went out and got into the car, backed out the drive at 35
miles an hour, taking part of the hedge with me, then some of the
stucco from the front house with my left rear fender. there were
blood on my shirt then and I took out my handkerchief and held it
over the eye. it was going to be a bad Saturday at the track. I was
mad.
I bet like the atomic bomb was on the way. I wanted to make
ten grand. I bet longshots. I didn't cash a ticket. I lost $500. all I
had
going to be a terrible Saturday night. I parked the car and went in
the back door.
"Hank-"
"what?"
"you look like death. what happened?"
"I blew it. I blew the roll. 500."
"jesus. I'm sorry," she said, "it's my fault." she came up to
me, put her arms around me. "god damn, I'm sorry, daddy. it was
my fault, I know it."
"forget it. you didn't make the bets."
"are you still mad?"
"no, no, I know you're not fucking that old turkey."
"can I get you something to eat?"
"no, no, just get us a fifth of whiskey and the paper."
I got up and went to the hidden money cache. we were down
to $180. well, it had been worse, many times, but I felt that I was on
my way back to the factories and the warehouses, if I could get that.
I came out with a ten. the dog still liked me. I pulled his ears. he
didn't care how much money I had or how little. a real ace dog.
yeah. I walked out of the bedroom. Kathy was putting on lipstick in
front of the mirror. I pinched her on the ass and kissed her behind
the ear.
"get me some beer and cigars too. I need to forget."
she left and I listened to her heels clicking on the drive. she
was as good a woman as I found and I had found her in a bar. I
leaned back in the chair and stared at the ceiling. a bum. I was a
bum. always this distaste for work, always trying to live off my luck.
when Kathy came back I told her to pour a big one. she looked
funny, and fine. we'd make love. we'd make love through the sad-
ness. I just hated to see it go: car, house, dog, woman. it had been
gentle and easy living.
I guess I was shaken because I opened the paper and looked at
the WANT ADS.
"hey, Kathy, here's something. men wanted, Sunday. pay
same day."
"oh, Hank, rest up tomorrow. you'll get those horses Tuesday.
everything will look better then."
"but shit, baby, every buck counts! they don't run on Sunday.
Caliente, yeah, but you can't beat that 25 percent Caliente take and
the distance. I can get good and drunk tonight and then pick up this
shit tomorrow. those extra bucks might make the difference."
Kathy looked at me funny. she'd never heard me talk like that
before. I always acted like the money would be there. that 500
dollar loss had left me in shock. she phoned me another tall one. I
drank it right off. shock, shock, lord, lord, the factories. the wasted
days, the days without meaning, the day of bosses and idiots, and
the slow and brutal clock.
we drank until two a.m., just like at the bar, then went to bed,
mad love, slept. I set the alarm for four a.m., was up and in the car
and downtown skidrow at 4:30 a.m. I stood on the corner with
about 25 bums in rags. they stood there rolling cigarettes and drinking
wine.
well, it's money, I thought. I'll get back-some day I'll
vacation in Paris or Rome. shit on these guys. I don't belong here.
then something said to me, that's what they're ALL thinking
I don't belong here. each one of THEM is thinking that about HIM-
SELF. and they're right, so?
the truck came along about 5:10a.m. and we climbed in.
god, I could be sleeping along behind Kathy's fine ass about
now. but it's money.
guys were talking about just getting off the boxcar. they stank,
poor fellows. but they didn't seem miserable. I was the only one
who was miserable.
I would be getting up about now, taking a piss. I would be
having a beer in the kitchen, looking for the sun, seeing it get
lighter,
peeking at my tulips. then going back to bed with Kathy.
the guy next to me said, "hey, buddy!"
"yeah," I said.
"I'm a Frenchman," he said.
I didn't answer.
"can you use a blowjob?"
"no," I said.
"I saw one guy blowing another in the alley this morning. this
one guy had this LONG THIN white dick and the other guy was still
sucking and the come was dripping out of his mouth. I watched and
watched and god I'm hot as hell. let me suck your dick, buddy!"
"no," I told him, "I don't feel like it right now."
"well, if I can't do that, maybe you can suck mine."
"get the hell out of here!" I told him.
the Frenchman moved further back into the truck. by the time
we'd gone another mile his head was bobbing. he was doing it righ
in front of everybody, to some old guy who looked like an Indian.
"GO, BABY, GET IT ALL!!!" somebody shouted.
some of the bums laughed but most of them were just silent,
drinking their wine and rolling their cigarettes. the old Indian acted
like it wasn't even happening. by the time we got to Vermont the
Frenchman had got it all and we all climbed out, the Frenchman, the
Indian, myself and the other bums. they gave us each a little tab of
doughnut and a coffee. the waitress held her nose up. we stank. dirty
cocksuckers.
then somebody finally hollered, "everybody out!"
I followed them out and we went into a big room and sat in
these chairs like they used to have in school, or college rather, say
like in Music Appreciation. with the big slab of wood for the right
arm so you could open your notebook and write on it there. any-
how, so there we sat for another 45 minutes. then some snot kid
with a can of beer in his hand, said, "o.k., get your SACKS!"
the bums all leaped up at ONCE and RAN to this large back
room. what the hell? I thought. I slowly walked on back and looked
in the other room. the bums were in there pushing and fighting for
the best paper carriers. it was deadly and senseless battle. when the
sack I found on the floor. it was very dirty and full of rips and
holes.
when I walked out into the other room the bums all had their paper
carriers on their backs, wearing them. I found a seat and just sat
there with mine in my lap. somewhere along the line I think they
had gotten our names; I think it was before you get your coffee and
doughnut tab you gave your name. so we sat there and were called
out in groups of 5 or 6 or 7. this took, it seemed, another hour.
anyhow, by the time I got into the back of this smaller truck with a
few others, the sun was well up. they gave us such a little map.I
recognized the streets all right: GOD OH MIGHTY, OUT OF THE
WHOLE TOWN OF LOS ANGELES THEY HAD GIVEN ME MY
OWN NEIGHBORHOOD!
I had the rep as drinker, gambler, hustler, man of leisure
shack-job specialist. how could I be SEEN with that filthy dirty sack
on my back? delivering newspapers full of ads?
they put me out on my corner. very familiar surroundings,
indeed. there was the flowershop, there was the bar, the gas station,
everything-.around the corner my little house with Kathy sleep-
in her warm bed. even the dog was asleep. well, it's Sunday
morning, I thought. nobody will see me. they sleep late. I'll run
through the god damned route. and I did.
I ran up and down 2 streets very quickly and nobody saw the
great man of class and soft white hands and great soulful eyes. I was
going to get by with it.
then up the 3rd street. it was going well until I heard the voice
of a little girl. she was in her yard. about 4 years old.
"hey, mister!"
"oh, yes? little girl? what is it?"
"where's your dog?"
"oh, haha, he's still asleep."
"oh."
I always walked the dog up that street. there was a vacant lot
there he always shit in. that did it. I took all my remaining news-
papers and dumped them into the back of an abandoned car near the
freeway. the car had been there for months with all the wheels gone.
I didn't know what it meant. but I put all the newspapers on the rear
floor. then I walked around the corner and went inot my house.
Kathy was still asleep. I awakened her.
"Kathy! Kathy!"
"oh, Hank-everything all right?"
the dog ran on in and I petted him.
"you know what those sons of bitches DID?"
"what?"
"they gave me my own neighborhood to deliver papers in!"
"oh, well, it's not nice but I don't think the people will mind."
"don't you understand? I've built this REP! I'm the hustler! I
can't be seen with a bag of shit on my back!"
"oh, I don't think you have that REP! it's just in your
head."
"listen, are you going to give me a lot of shit? you've had your
ass in this warm bed while I've been out there with a lot of cock-
suckers!"
"don't be angry. I've got to pee. wait a minute."
I waited out there while she took her sleepy female piss. god,
they were SLOW! the cunt was a very inefficient pissing machine.
dick had it all beat.
Kathy came out.
"please don't worry, Hank. I'll put on an old dress and help
you deliver the papers. we'll finish fast. people sleep late on Sun-
days."
"but I've already been SEEN!"
"you've already been seen? who saw you?"
"that little girl in the brown house with the weeds on West-
moreland st."
"you mean Myra?"
"I don't know her name!"
"she's only 3."
"I don't know how old she is! she asked about the dog!"
"what about the dog?"
"she asked where it WAS!"
"come on, I'll help you get rid of the papers."
Kathy was climbing into an old ripped dress."
"I got rid of them. it's over. I dumped them into the back of
that abandoned car."
"will they catch you?"
"FUCK! who cares?"
I went into the kitchen and got a beer. when I got back Kathy
was in bed again. I sat in the chair.
"Kathy?"
"uh?"
"you just don't realize who you're living with! I'm class, real
class! I'm 34 but I haven't worked 6 or 7 months since I was 18
years old. and no money. look at my hands! I've got hands like a
pianist!"
"Class? you OUGHT to HEAR yourself when you're drunk!
you're horrible, horrible!"
"are you trying to start some shit again, Kathy? I've kept you
in furs and hundred proof since I dug you outa that gin mill on
Alvarado st."
Kathy didn't answer.
"in fact," I told here, "I am a genius but nobody knows it but
me."
"I'll buy that," she said. then she dug her head into the pillow
and went back to sleep.
I finished the beer, had another, then went 3 blocks over and
sat on the steps of a closed grocery store that the map said would be
the meeting place where the man would pick me up. I sat there from
10 a.m. to 2:30 a.m. 9t was dull and dry and stupid and torturous
and senseless. then the rotten truck came at 2:30 p.m.
"hey. buddy?"
"yum?"
"you finished already?"
"yum."
"you're fast!"
"yep."
"I want you to help this one guy finish his route."
oh, fuck.
I got into the truck and then he let me off. here was this guy.
he was CREEPING. he threw each paper with great care upon each
porch. each porch got special treatment. and he seemed to enjoy his
work. he was on his last block. I finished the whole thing off in 5
minutes. then we sat and waited for the truck. for an hour.
they drove us back to the office and we sat in our school
chairs again. then two snot-nosed kids came out with cans of beer in
their hands. one called off names and the other gave each man his
money.
on a blackboard written in chalk behind the heads of the
snot-noses was a message:
ANY MAN WHO WORKS FOR US 30 DAYS IN A ROW
WITHOUT MISSING A DAY
WILL BE GIVEN
A FREE
SECOND HAND SUIT.
I kept watching as each man was handed his money. it
couldn't be true. it APPEARED that each man was given three one
dollar bills. at the time, the lowest basic wage scale by law was one
dollar an hour. I had been on that corner at 4:30 a.m. now it was
4:30 p.m. to me, that was 12 hours.
I was one of the last names called. I think I was 3rd from last.
not a one of those bums raised hell. they just took the $3 and went
out the door.
"Bukowski!" the snot-nosed kid hollered.
I walked up. the other snot-nosed kid counted out 3 very clean
and crisp Washingtons.
"listen," I said, "don't you guys realize that there is a basic
wage law? one buck an hour."
the snot-nose raised his beer. "we deduct for transportation,
breakfast and so forth. we only pay for average working time which
we figure to be about 3 hours or so."
"I see twelve hours out of my life and I've got to take a bus
downtown now to go get my car and drive in back in."
"you're lucky to have a car."
"and you're lucky I don't jam that can of beer up your ass!"
"I don't set company policy, sir, please don't blame me."
"I'm going to report you to the State Labor Board!"
"Robinson!" the other snot-nose hollered.
the next to last burn got p from his seat for his $3 as I walked
out the door and on up to Beverly blvd. to wait for the bus. by the
time I got home and got a drink in my hand it was 6 p.m. or so. I
really got drunk then. I was so frustrated I banged Kathy 3 times.
broke a window. cut my foot on broken glass. sang songs from
Gilbert and Sullivan, which I once learned from an insane English
teacher who taught an English class which began at 7 a.m. in the
morning. L.A.City College. Richardson was his name. and maybe he
wasn't insane. but he taught me Gilbert and Sullivan and gave me a
"d" in English for showing up no sooner than 7:30 a.m. with hang-
over, WHEN I showed. but that's something else. Kathy and I had
some laughs that night, and although I broke a few things I was not
as nasty and stupid as usual.
and that Tuesday at Hollywood Park I won $140 at the races
and I was once again the quite casual lover, hustler, gambler, re-
formed pimp and tulip grower. I drove slowly up the driveway,
savoring the last of the evening sun. then I strolled in through the
back door. Kathy had on some meat loaf with plenty of onions and
crap and spices in it just the way I liked it. she was bent over at the
stove and I grabbed her from the back.
"ooooo-"
"listen, baby-"
"yeah?"
she stood there with the large dripping spoon in her hand. I
slipped ten into the neck of her dress.
"I want you to get me a fifth of whiskey."
"sure, sure."
"and some beer and cigars. I'll watch the food."
she took off her apron and went into the bathroom for a
moment. I could hear her humming. a moment later I sat in my chair
and listened to her heels clicking down the drive. there was a tennis
ball. I took the tennis ball and bounced it on the floor so it hit the
wall and zoomed high into the air. the dog who was 5 feet long and
3 feet tall, + wolf, leaped into the air, there was the snap of teeth
and he had that tennis ball, up near the ceiling. for a moment he
seemed to hang up there. what a beautiful dog, what a beautiful life.
when he hit the floor I got up to check the meatloaf. it was all right.
everything was.
===
**NON-HORSESHIT HORSE ADVICE**
so, the Hollywood Park meet has begun, and naturally I have been out a
couple of times, and the scene is not very variable: the horses look the
same and the people a little worse, the horseplayer is a combination of
extreme conceit, madness and greed. one of Freud's main pupils(I don't
recall his name right now, only remem- ber reading the book) said that
gambling is a substitute for masturba- tion. of course, the problem with any
direct statement is that it can easily become an untruth, a part truth, a
lie or a wilted gardenia. yet, checking out the ladies (between races) I do
find the same oddity: before the first race they sit with their skirts down
as much as possible, and as each race proceeds the skirts climb higher and
high- er, until just before the 9th race it takes all one's facilities not
to commit rape upon one of the darlings. whether it is a sense of
masturbation that causes this or whether the dear little things need rent
and bean money, I don't know, probably a combo. I saw one lady leap over 2
or 3 rows of seats after getting a winner, and screaming, screeching, divine
as an iced-grapefruit vodka across the top of a hangover. "she's getting
hers now," said my girlfriend.
"yeah," I said, "but I wish I had gotten there first."
for those of you unfamiliar with the basic principles of horse-
wagering, allow me to divert you with a few basics. the difficulty in the
average person leaving the track with any money at all is easily propounded
if you will follow this - the track and the state take roughly 15% out of
each dollar bet, plus breakage. the 15% is di= vided about in half between
the state and the track. in other words, 85 cents out of each dollar is
returned to the holders of winning tickets. breakage is the penny difference
on the ten cent breakdown of the payoff. in other words, say if the
totalizer machine breaks the payoff down to a $16.84 payoff, then the
winning player gets $16.80, the 4 cents on each winning bet going elsewhere.
now I am not sure, because the thing in not publicized but I also believe
that on, say, a $16.89 payoff, the payoff is still $16.80 and the 9 cents
goes elsewhere, but I am not positive of this and "Open City" cer- tainly
can't afford a libel suit now or ever and neither can I, so I will not make
this a positive presumption, but if any "Open City" reader has the facts on
this, I do wish he would write O.C. and advise me, this penny breakage alone
could make millionaires out of any of us.
now take the average goof who has worked all week and is looking for a
little bit of luck, entertainment, masturbation, take 40 of them, give them
each $100, and presuming that they are average bettors, the general medium
based upon a 15% take, forgetting breakage, would have 40 of them leaving
with $85. but it doesn't work that way 0 35 of them will leave almost
completely broke, one or two of them will win $85 or $150 by sheer fortune
of falling upon the right horses and not knowing why. the 3 or 4 others will
break even.
all right, then, who is getting all this money that the little bettor
who works a turret lathe or drives a bus all week, losers? easy: the betting
stables who send off bad-form horses in a spot that it is profitable for
them to win in. stables cannot make it upon purse money alone, that is, most
of them can't. give a stable a top handi- cap horse and they are in, but
even they must resort to pulls and deliberately bad races in order to get
weight off for a top money race. in other words, say a top-weighted horse
gifted with 130 pounds by the track handicapper for an early $25,000 race
will tend to lose this race and get weight off on that performance for a
later $100,000 race. now these statements cannot be proven but if you will
follow this conjecture you might make a little money or at least save a
little. but it is the stables who must race in the lower class races with
lower purses who must maneuver their horses for a price. in some cases, the
owner of the horse or horses himself is not aware of the maneuvering; this
is because trainers and grooms, hot-walkers, exercise jocks are grossly
underpaid (in time and effort put in, com- pared to other industries) and
their only way to get out is to put one over. the racetracks are aware of
this and attempt to keep the game clean, to give it a holy sheen of honesty,
but for all their efforts- barring tough guys, cons, syndicates, operators,
from the track, there are still "goodies" put over on the crowd, a so-called
pig who "wakes up" and wins by 3 to 10 lengths at odds of 5 to up to 50 to1.
but these are only animals, not machines. so there's an excuse, an excuse to
how many men in America bought those stupid things?
or then you can pass half a hundred fuck machines in a 10
minute walk on almost any main sidewalk of America - the only
difference being that they pretended that they were human.
poor Indian Mike. with that 20 inch dead cock.
all the poor Indian Mikes. all the climbers into Space. all the
whores of Vietnam and Washington.
poor Tanya, her belly had been a hog's belly. veins the veins of
a dog. she rarely shatted or pissed, she had just fucked - heart, voice
and tongue borrowed from others - there were only supposed to be
17 possible organ transplants at that time. Von B. was far ahead of
them.
poor Tanya, who had only eaten a little - mostly cheap cheese
and raisins. she had had no desire for money or property or large
new cars or overexpensive homes. she had never read the evening
paper. had no desire for colored television, new hats, rain boots,
backfence conversation with idiot wives; nor had she desired a hus-
band who was a doctor, a stockbroker, a congressman or a cop.
and the guy at the gas station keeps asking me, "hey, what
happened to that thing you brought down here one day and blew up
with the air hose?"
but he doesn't ask anymore. I buy my gas at a new place. I
don't even get my hair cut anymore where I saw that magazine with
the Von Brashlitz rubber dolly sex ad. I am trying to forget every-
thing.
what would you do?
===
The first three months of my marriage to Sarah were acceptable but I'd
say a little after that our troubles began. She was a good cook, and for the
first time in years I was eating well. I began to put on weight. And Sarah
began to make remarks.
"Ah, Henry, you're beginning to look like a turkey they're plumping for
Thanksgiving."
"Ats right, baby," I told her.
I was a shipping clerk in an auto parts warehouse and the pay was
hardly sufficient.
My only joys were eating, drinking beer and going to bed with Sarah.
Not exactly a
rounded life but a man had to take what he could get. Sarah was plenty.
Everything
about her spelled S-E-X. I had really gotten to know her at a Christmas
party for the
employees at the warehouse. Sarah was a secretary there. I noticed none
of the
fellows got near her at the party and I couldn't understand it. I had
never seen a sexier woman and she didn't act the fool either. I got close to
her and we drank and talked. She was beautiful. There was something odd
about her eyes, though. They just kept looking into you and the eyelids
didn't seem to blink. When she went to the restroom I walked over to Harry
the truckdriver.
"Listen, Harry," I asked, "how come none of the boys make a play for
Sarah?"
"She's a witch, man, a real witch. Stay away."
"There's no such thing as witches, Harry. All that has been disproven.
All those women they burned at the stake in the old days, it was a cruel and
a horrible mistake. There's no such thing as a witch."
"Well, maybe they did burn a lot of women wrongly, I can't say. But
this bitch is a witch, take it from me."
"All she needs, Harry, is understanding."
"All she needs," said Harry, "is a victim."
"How do you know?"
"Facts," said Harry. "Two guys here, Manny, a salesman. And Lincoln, a
clerk." "What happened?"
"They just kind of disappeared in front of our eyes, only so slowly---
you could see them going, vanishng..."
"What do you mean?"
"I don't want to talk about it. You'd think I was crazy."
Harry walked off. Then Sarah came out of the lady's room. She looked
beautiful.
"What did Harry tell you about me?" she asked.
"How did you know I was talking to Harry?"
"I know," she said.
"He didn't say much."
"Whatever he said, forget it. It's bullshit. I won't let him have any
and he's jealous. He
likes to badmouth people."
"I'm not concerned with Harry's opinions," I told her.
"You and I are going to make it, Henry," she said.
She went to my apartment with me after the party and I'm telling you
I've never been laid like that. She was the woman of all women. It was a
month or so later that we were married. She quit her job right off, but I
didn't say anything because I was so glad to have her. Sarah made her own
clothes, did her own hair. She was a remarkable woman. Very remarkable.
But, as I said, it was after about 3 months that she began making these
remarks about my weight. At first they were just genial little remarks, then
she began to get scornful about it. I came home one night and she said,
"Take off your damned clothes!"
"What, my darling?"
"You heard me, bastard! Strip!"
Sarah was a little different then than I had ever seen her. I took off
my clothes and underwear and threw them on the couch. She stared at me.
"Awful," she said, "what a lot of shit!"
"What, dear?"
"I said you look just like a big tub of shit!"
"Listen, honey, what's wrong? You got the rag on tonight?"
"Shut up! Look at that stuff hanging at your sides!"
She was right. There seemed to be a little pouch of fat on each side,
hanging just above the hips. Then she doubled up her fists and hit me hard
several times on each of the pouches.
"We've got to punch that shit! Break up the fat tissues, the cells..."
She punched me again, several times.
"Ow! Baby, that hurts!"
"Good! Now, hit yourself!"
"Hit myself?"
"Go ahead, damn you!"
I hit myself several times, quite hard. When I was finished the things
were still there, though now they looked quite red.
"We're going to get that shit off of you," she told me.
I figured that is was love and decided to cooperate...
Sarah began counting my calories. She took away my fried foods, bread
and potatoes, salad dressing, but I kept my beer. I had to show her who was
wearing the pants in our family.
"No, damn it," I said, "I won't give up my beer. I love you very much
but the beer stays!"
"All right," said Sarah, "we'll make it work anyway."
"Make what work?"
"I mean, get that shit off you, get you down to a desirable size."
"And what's a desirable size?" I asked.
"You'll see."
Each night when I got home she'd ask me the same questionl
"Did you punch your sides today?"
"Oh, hell yes!"
"How many times?"
"400 punches on both sides, hard."
I would walk down the streets punching at my sides. People looked at me
but it didn't matter after a while because I knew that I was accomplishing
something and they weren't."
Things were working, marvelously. I came down from 225 to 197. Then
from 197 to 184. I felt ten years younger. People remarked about how good I
looked. Everybody except Harry the truck driver. Of course, he was just
jealous because he never got into Sarah's panties. His tough shit.
One night on the scales I was down to 179.
I said to Sarah, "Don't you think we've come down enough? Look at me!"
The things on my sides were long gone. My belly hung in. My cheeks looked as
if I were sucking them in.
"According to the charts," said Sarah, "according to my charts, you've
not yet reached a desirable size."
"Look," I told her, "I'm six feet tall. What is the desireable weight?"
And then Sarah answered me quite strangely.
"I didn't say 'desirable weight'," I said, 'desireable size'. This is
the New Age, the Atomic Age, and most important the Age of Overpopulation. I
am the Saviour of the World. I have the answer to the Overpopulation
Explosion. Explosion. Let others work on Pollution. Solving Overpopulation
is the root; it will solve Pollution and many other things too."
"What the hell are you talking about?" I asked, ripping the cap off a
bottle of beer.
"Don't worry about it," she answered, "you'll find out."
Then I began to notice, as I stepped on the scales, that although I was
still losing weight I didn't seem to be getting any thinner. It was strange.
And then I noticed that my pantscuffs were hanging down over my shoes---ever
so slightly, and that my shirtcuffs were hanging down a bit over my wrists.
When I drove to work I notcied that the steering wheel seemed further away.
I had to pull the car seat up a notch.
One night I got on the scales.
155.
"Look here, Sarah."
"Yes, darling?"
"There's something I don't understand."
"What?"
"I seem to be shrinking."
"Shrinking?"
"Oh, you fool! That's incredible! How can a man shrink? Do you really
think that your diet is shinking your bones? Bones melt! Rduction of
calories only reduces fat. Don't be an idiot! Shrinking? Impossible!"
Then she laughed.
"All right," I said, "come here. Here's a pencil. Now I'm gonna stand
against this wall. My mother used to do this with me as a kid when I was
growing. Now put a line right there on the wall where the pencil hits after
you place it straight across the top of my head."
"All right, silly," she said.
She drew the line.
A week later I was down to 131. It was happening faster and faster.
"Come here, Sarah."
"Yes, silly boy."
"Now, draw the line."
She drew the line, I turned around.
"Now see here, I've lost 24 pounds and 8 inches in the last week. I'm
melting away! I'm now five feet two. This is madness! Madness! I've had
enough. I've caught you cutting my pants legs, my shirt sleeves. It won't
work. I'm going to begin eating again. I think that you are some kind of
witch!"
It was soon after that the boss called me into the office
I climbed into the chair across from his desk.
"Henry Markson Jones II?"
"Of course, sir."
"Well, Jones, we've been watching you carefully. I'm afraid you just
don't fit this job anymore. We hate to see you go like this...I mean , we
hate to let you go like this, but..."
"Look, sir, I always do my best."
"We know you do, Jones, but you're just not doing a man's job back
there anymore."
He let me go. Of course, I knew that I would get my unemployment
compensation.
But I thought it was small of him to let me go like that...
I stayed home with Sarah. Which made it worse---she fed me. It got so I
couldn't reach the refrigerator door anymore. And then she put me on a small
silver chain.
Soon I was two feet tall. I had to use a potty chair to shit. But she
still let me have my beer, as promised.
"Ah, my little pet," she said, "you're so small and cute!"
"I'm not a duck, I'm a man!"
"Oh my little sweet man-y-man!"
She picked me up and kissed me with her red lips...
Sarah got me down to being 6 inches tall. She carried me to the store
in her purse. I could look out at the people through the little air holes
she had poked in her purse. I will say one thing for the woman. She still
allowed me to have my beer. I drank it by the thimble. A quart would last me
a month. In the old days it was gone in 45 minutes. I was resigned. I knew
that if she wished to do so she could make me vanish entirely. Better 6
inches than nothing. Even a little life becomes very dear when you near the
end of life. So, I amused Sarah. It was all I could do. She made me little
clothes and shoes and put me on top of the radio and turned on the music and
said, "Dance, little one! Dance, my dunce! Dance, my fool!"
Well, I couldn't collect my unemployment compensation so I danced on
top of the radio while she clapped her hands and laughed.
You know, spiders frightened me terribly and flies were the size of
giant eagles, and if a cat ever caught me it would torture me like a small
mouse. But life was still dear to me. I danced and sang and hung on. No
matter how little a man has he will find that he will always settle for
less. When I shit on the rug I would get spanked. Sarah put little pieces of
paper around and I shit on them. And I ripped off little pieces of that
paper to wipe my butt with. It felt like cardboard. I got hemorrhoids.
Couldn't sleep nights. Feelings of inferiority, of being trapped. Paranoia?
Anyhow, I felt good when I sang and danced and Sarah let me have my beer.
She kept me at an exact six inches for some reason. What the reason was, it
was beyond me. As almost everything else was beyond me.
I made up songs for Sarah, that's what I called them: Songs for Sarah:
"o, I'm just a little snot,
that's all right until I get hot,
then there's nothing to stick it in
except the fucking head of a pin!
Sarah would clap her hands and laugh.
"if ya wanna be an admir in the queen's navy
just be a clark for the fuckin' nark,
grow 6 inches tall and when the Queen goes to pee
you can peek up inter drippin' pussy..."
And Sarah would clap her hands and laugh. Well, that was all right. It
had to be...
But one night something very disgusting happened. I was singing and
dancing and Sarah was on the bed, naked, clapping her hands, drinking wine
and laughing. I was putting on a good show. One of my best. But, as always,
the top of the radio got hot and started burning my feet. I couldn't stand
it anymore.
"Look, baby," I said, "I've had it. Take me down. Gimme a beer. No
wine. You drink that cheapass wine. Gimme a thimble of that good beer."
"Sure, sweetie," she said, "you put on a wonderful show tonight. If
Manny and Lincoln had acted as nice as you, they'd be here tonight. But they
didn't sing or dance, the brooded. And worst of all, they objected to the
Final Act."
"And what was the Final Act?" I asked.
"Now, sweetie, just drink your beer and relax. I want you to enjoy the
Final Act. You are evidently a much more talented person than Manny or
Lincoln. I do believe that we can have the Culmination of the Opposites."
"O, hell yes," I said, draining my beer. "Now give me a refill. And
just what is the Culmination of the Opposites?"
"Enjoy your beer, little sweetie, you'll know soon enough."
I finished my beer and then the disgusting thing happened, a most
disgusting thing. Sarah picked me up and placed me down between her legs,
which she spread open just a bit. Then I was facing a forest of hair. I
hardened my back and neck muscles, sensing what was to come. I was jammed
into darkness and stench. I heard Sarah moan. Then Sarah began to move me
slowly back and forth. As I said, the stench was unbearable, and it was
difficult to breathe, but somehow there was air in there---various side-
pockets and drafts of oxygen. Now and then my head, the top of my head
bumped The Man in the Boat and then Sarah would let out an extra-illuminated
moan.
Sarah began moving me faster and faster. My skin began to burn, it
became harder to breathe; the stench became worse. I could hear her panting.
It occured to me that the sooner I ended the thing the less I would suffer.
Each time I was rammed forward I would arch my back and neck, tilt
everything of me into this hooking curve of a thing, bumping The Man in the
Boat.
Suddenly I was ripped out of that terrible tunnel. Sarah held me up to
her face.
"Come, you damned fiend of a thing! Come!" she demanded.
Sarah was totally drunk on wine and passion. I felt myself being rushed
back into the tunnel. She worked me rapidly back and forth. Then suddenly I
sucked air into my lungs to increase my size and then I gathered saliva
intlo my jaws and spit it out---once, twice, 3 times, 4, 5, six times, then
I stopped...The stench increased beyond all imagination and then, at last, I
was lifted out into the air.
Sarah lifted me into the lamplight and began kissing me all over my
head and shoulders.
"O, my darling! o, my precious little cock! I love you!"
Then she kissed me with those horrible red and painted lips. I vomited.
Then, spent in a swoon of wine and passion, she placed me between her
breasts. I rested there and listened to her heart beat. She had taken me off
of her damnd leash, that silver chain, but it didn't matter. I was hardly
free. One of her massive breasts had fallen to one side and I seemed to be
right over the heart. The heart of the witch. If I were the answer to the
Population Explosion then why hadn't she used me as more than a thing of
entertainment, a sexual toy? I stretched out there and listened to that
heart. I decided that she was a witch. Then I glanced up. Do you know what I
saw? A most amazing thing. Up in that little crevice below the headboard. A
hat pin. Yes, a hat pin, long with one of those round purple glass things at
the end of it. I walked up between her breasts, climbed her throat, got up
on her chin(after much trouble), then walked quietly across her lips, and
then she stirred a bit as I almost fell and had to grab to a nostril for
support. Very slowly I got up by the right eye--- her head was tilted
slightly to the left---and then I was up on the forehead, having gone past
the temple, and I was up into the hair---very difficult, wading through.
Then I stood and stretched---reached up and just managed to grab the hat
pin. Coming down was faster but more treacherous. I almost lost my balance
several times, carrying that hat pin. One fall and it was over. I laughed
several times because it was so ridiculous. The outcome of an office party
for the gang, Merry Christmas.
Then I was down under that massive breast again. I laid the hat pin
down and listened again. I listened for the exact sound of the heart. I
determined it to be at a spot exactly below a small brown birthmark. Then I
stood up. I picked up the hat pin with its purple glass end, beautiful in
the lamplight. And I thought, will it work? I was 6 inches tall and I judged
the hat pin to be half again longer than 1.9 inches. The heart seemed closer
than that.
I lifted the pin and plunged it in. Just below the birthmark.
Sarah rolled and convulsed. I held onto the hat pin. She almost threw
me to the floor---which by comparative size seemed a thousand feet or more
and would have killed me. I hung on. Her lips formed an odd sound.
Then she seemed to quiver all over like a woman freezing.
I reached up and jammed the remaining 3 inches of the pin down into her
chest until the beautiful purple glass head of the pin was up against her
skin.
Then Sarah was still, I listened.
I heard the heart, one two, one two, one two, one two, one...
It stopped.
And then with my little killer's hands, I clutched and gripped the
bedsheet and made my way to the floor. I was 6 inches tall and real and
frightened and hungry. I found a hole in one of the bedroom screens which
faced east and ran from ceiling to floor. I grabbed at the branch of a bush,
climbed on, clambered along the branch to the inside of the bush. Nobody
knew that Sarah was dead but I. But that had no realistic good. If I were to
go on, I would have to have something to eat. But I couldn't help wondering
how my case would be evolved in a court of law? Was I guilty? I ripped off a
leaf and tried to eat it. No good. Hardly. Then I saw the lady in the court
to the south set out a plate of catfood for her cat. I crawled out of the
bush and worked my way toward the catfood, watching for animals and
movements. It tasted worse than anything I had ever eaten but I had no
choice. I ate all the catfood I could---death tasted worse. Then I walked
over to the bush and climbed back into it.
There I was, 6 inches tall, the answer to The Population Explosionm
hanging in a bush with a bellyful of catfood.
There are details I don't want to bore you with. Escapes from cats and
dogs and rats. Feeling myself growing bit by bit. Watching them carry
Sarah's body out of there. Going in there and finding myself too small,
still, to open the refrigerator door.
The day the cat almost caught me as I ate at his bowl. I had to break
away.
I was then 8 or 10 inches tall, I was growing. I even scared pigeons.
When you scare pigeons you know that you are getting there. I simply ran
down the street one day, hiding along the shadows of buildings and down
beneath hedges and the like. I kept running and hiding until I got outside a
supermarket and I hid under a newspaper stand just outside the entrance to
the store. Then, as a big woman walked up and the electric door opened, I
walked in behind her. One of the clerks at a checkstand looked up as I
walked in behind the woman:
"Hey, what the hell's that?"
"What?" a customer asked him.
"I thought I saw something," said the clerk, "maybe not. I hope not."
I somehow sneaked back to the storeroom without being seen. I hid
behind some cartons of baked beans. That night I came out and had a fine
feed. Potato salad, pickles, ham on rye, potato chips and beer, plenty of
beer. It became about the same routine. Each day, all day, I hid in the
storeroom and at night I'd come out and have a party. But I was growing and
hiding was becoming more difficult. I got to watching the manager put the
money in the safe each night. He was the last to leave. I counted the pauses
as he put the money away each night. It seemed to be---7 right, 6 left, 4
right, 6 left, 3 right, open. I went over to the safe each night and tried
the numbers. I had to make a kind of stairway out of empty cartons in order
to get up to the dial. It didn't seem to work but I kept trying. Each night,
I mean. Meanwhile I was growing fast. Perhaps I was 3 feet tall. The store
had a small clothing section and I had to keep going into the larger sizes.
The population problem was returning. Then one night the safe opened. I had
23 thousand dollars in cash. I must have hit them the night before banking
time. I took the key the manager used in order to get out without the
burglar alarm ringing. Then I walked down the street and got a week's worth
of lodging at the Sunset Motel. I told the lady I worked as a midget in the
movies. It just seemed to bore her.
"No television or loud noises after ten p. m. That's our rule here."
She took my money, gave me a receipt and closed her door.
They key said room 103. I hadn't even looked at the room. The doors
said 98, 99, 100, 101, I was walking north toward the Hollywood Hills,
toward those mountains behind them, with the great and golden light of the
Lord shining upon me, growing.
===
** 25 BUMS IN RAGS**
you know how it is with horseplayers. you hit it hot and you
think it's all over. I had this place in back, even had my own garden,
planted all kinds of tulips, which grew, beautifully and amazingly. I
had the green hand. I had the green money. what system I had
devised I can no longer remember, but it was working and I wasn't
and that's a pleasant enough way to live. and there was Kathy.
Kathy had it. the old guy next door would actually slobber at the
mouth when he saw her. he was always knocking at the door.
"Kathy! oooh, Kathy! Kathy!"
I'd answer the door, just dressed in my shorts.
"ooooh, I thought-"
"I thought Kathy-"
"Kathy's taking a shit. any message?"
"I-bought these bones for your dog."
he had a big bag of dry chicken bones.
"feeding a dog chicken bones is like putting broken razor
blades in a child's cereal. you trying to kill my dog, fucker?"
"oh, no!"
"then jam the bones and split."
"I don't understand."
"stick that bag of chickenbones up your ass and get the hell
out of here!"
"I just thought Kathy-"
"I told you, Kathy's taking a SHIT!"
I slammed the back door on him.
"you shouldn't be so hard on the old fart, Hank, he says I
remind him of his daughter when she was young."
"all right, so he made it with his daughter. let him screw swiss
cheese. I don't want him at the door."
"I suppose you think I let him in after you go to the track?"
"I don't even wonder about that."
"what do you wonder about?"
"all I wonder is which one of you rides topside."
"you son of a bitch. you can leave now!"
I was getting on my shirt and pants, then socks and shoes.
I won't be 4 blocks away before you're locked in embrace."
she threw a book at me. I wasn't looking and the edge of the
book hit me over the right eye. a cut started and a spot of blood hit
my hand as I tied my right shoe.
"I'm sorry, Hank."
"don't get NEAR me!"
I went out and got into the car, backed out the drive at 35
miles an hour, taking part of the hedge with me, then some of the
stucco from the front house with my left rear fender. there were
blood on my shirt then and I took out my handkerchief and held it
over the eye. it was going to be a bad Saturday at the track. I was
mad.
I bet like the atomic bomb was on the way. I wanted to make
ten grand. I bet longshots. I didn't cash a ticket. I lost $500. all I
had
going to be a terrible Saturday night. I parked the car and went in
the back door.
"Hank-"
"what?"
"you look like death. what happened?"
"I blew it. I blew the roll. 500."
"jesus. I'm sorry," she said, "it's my fault." she came up to
me, put her arms around me. "god damn, I'm sorry, daddy. it was
my fault, I know it."
"forget it. you didn't make the bets."
"are you still mad?"
"no, no, I know you're not fucking that old turkey."
"can I get you something to eat?"
"no, no, just get us a fifth of whiskey and the paper."
I got up and went to the hidden money cache. we were down
to $180. well, it had been worse, many times, but I felt that I was on
my way back to the factories and the warehouses, if I could get that.
I came out with a ten. the dog still liked me. I pulled his ears. he
didn't care how much money I had or how little. a real ace dog.
yeah. I walked out of the bedroom. Kathy was putting on lipstick in
front of the mirror. I pinched her on the ass and kissed her behind
the ear.
"get me some beer and cigars too. I need to forget."
she left and I listened to her heels clicking on the drive. she
was as good a woman as I found and I had found her in a bar. I
leaned back in the chair and stared at the ceiling. a bum. I was a
bum. always this distaste for work, always trying to live off my luck.
when Kathy came back I told her to pour a big one. she looked
funny, and fine. we'd make love. we'd make love through the sad-
ness. I just hated to see it go: car, house, dog, woman. it had been
gentle and easy living.
I guess I was shaken because I opened the paper and looked at
the WANT ADS.
"hey, Kathy, here's something. men wanted, Sunday. pay
same day."
"oh, Hank, rest up tomorrow. you'll get those horses Tuesday.
everything will look better then."
"but shit, baby, every buck counts! they don't run on Sunday.
Caliente, yeah, but you can't beat that 25 percent Caliente take and
the distance. I can get good and drunk tonight and then pick up this
shit tomorrow. those extra bucks might make the difference."
Kathy looked at me funny. she'd never heard me talk like that
before. I always acted like the money would be there. that 500
dollar loss had left me in shock. she phoned me another tall one. I
drank it right off. shock, shock, lord, lord, the factories. the wasted
days, the days without meaning, the day of bosses and idiots, and
the slow and brutal clock.
we drank until two a.m., just like at the bar, then went to bed,
mad love, slept. I set the alarm for four a.m., was up and in the car
and downtown skidrow at 4:30 a.m. I stood on the corner with
about 25 bums in rags. they stood there rolling cigarettes and drinking
wine.
well, it's money, I thought. I'll get back-some day I'll
vacation in Paris or Rome. shit on these guys. I don't belong here.
then something said to me, that's what they're ALL thinking
I don't belong here. each one of THEM is thinking that about HIM-
SELF. and they're right, so?
the truck came along about 5:10a.m. and we climbed in.
god, I could be sleeping along behind Kathy's fine ass about
now. but it's money.
guys were talking about just getting off the boxcar. they stank,
poor fellows. but they didn't seem miserable. I was the only one
who was miserable.
I would be getting up about now, taking a piss. I would be
having a beer in the kitchen, looking for the sun, seeing it get
lighter,
peeking at my tulips. then going back to bed with Kathy.
the guy next to me said, "hey, buddy!"
"yeah," I said.
"I'm a Frenchman," he said.
I didn't answer.
"can you use a blowjob?"
"no," I said.
"I saw one guy blowing another in the alley this morning. this
one guy had this LONG THIN white dick and the other guy was still
sucking and the come was dripping out of his mouth. I watched and
watched and god I'm hot as hell. let me suck your dick, buddy!"
"no," I told him, "I don't feel like it right now."
"well, if I can't do that, maybe you can suck mine."
"get the hell out of here!" I told him.
the Frenchman moved further back into the truck. by the time
we'd gone another mile his head was bobbing. he was doing it righ
in front of everybody, to some old guy who looked like an Indian.
"GO, BABY, GET IT ALL!!!" somebody shouted.
some of the bums laughed but most of them were just silent,
drinking their wine and rolling their cigarettes. the old Indian acted
like it wasn't even happening. by the time we got to Vermont the
Frenchman had got it all and we all climbed out, the Frenchman, the
Indian, myself and the other bums. they gave us each a little tab of
doughnut and a coffee. the waitress held her nose up. we stank. dirty
cocksuckers.
then somebody finally hollered, "everybody out!"
I followed them out and we went into a big room and sat in
these chairs like they used to have in school, or college rather, say
like in Music Appreciation. with the big slab of wood for the right
arm so you could open your notebook and write on it there. any-
how, so there we sat for another 45 minutes. then some snot kid
with a can of beer in his hand, said, "o.k., get your SACKS!"
the bums all leaped up at ONCE and RAN to this large back
room. what the hell? I thought. I slowly walked on back and looked
in the other room. the bums were in there pushing and fighting for
the best paper carriers. it was deadly and senseless battle. when the
sack I found on the floor. it was very dirty and full of rips and
holes.
when I walked out into the other room the bums all had their paper
carriers on their backs, wearing them. I found a seat and just sat
there with mine in my lap. somewhere along the line I think they
had gotten our names; I think it was before you get your coffee and
doughnut tab you gave your name. so we sat there and were called
out in groups of 5 or 6 or 7. this took, it seemed, another hour.
anyhow, by the time I got into the back of this smaller truck with a
few others, the sun was well up. they gave us such a little map.I
recognized the streets all right: GOD OH MIGHTY, OUT OF THE
WHOLE TOWN OF LOS ANGELES THEY HAD GIVEN ME MY
OWN NEIGHBORHOOD!
I had the rep as drinker, gambler, hustler, man of leisure
shack-job specialist. how could I be SEEN with that filthy dirty sack
on my back? delivering newspapers full of ads?
they put me out on my corner. very familiar surroundings,
indeed. there was the flowershop, there was the bar, the gas station,
everything-.around the corner my little house with Kathy sleep-
in her warm bed. even the dog was asleep. well, it's Sunday
morning, I thought. nobody will see me. they sleep late. I'll run
through the god damned route. and I did.
I ran up and down 2 streets very quickly and nobody saw the
great man of class and soft white hands and great soulful eyes. I was
going to get by with it.
then up the 3rd street. it was going well until I heard the voice
of a little girl. she was in her yard. about 4 years old.
"hey, mister!"
"oh, yes? little girl? what is it?"
"where's your dog?"
"oh, haha, he's still asleep."
"oh."
I always walked the dog up that street. there was a vacant lot
there he always shit in. that did it. I took all my remaining news-
papers and dumped them into the back of an abandoned car near the
freeway. the car had been there for months with all the wheels gone.
I didn't know what it meant. but I put all the newspapers on the rear
floor. then I walked around the corner and went inot my house.
Kathy was still asleep. I awakened her.
"Kathy! Kathy!"
"oh, Hank-everything all right?"
the dog ran on in and I petted him.
"you know what those sons of bitches DID?"
"what?"
"they gave me my own neighborhood to deliver papers in!"
"oh, well, it's not nice but I don't think the people will mind."
"don't you understand? I've built this REP! I'm the hustler! I
can't be seen with a bag of shit on my back!"
"oh, I don't think you have that REP! it's just in your
head."
"listen, are you going to give me a lot of shit? you've had your
ass in this warm bed while I've been out there with a lot of cock-
suckers!"
"don't be angry. I've got to pee. wait a minute."
I waited out there while she took her sleepy female piss. god,
they were SLOW! the cunt was a very inefficient pissing machine.
dick had it all beat.
Kathy came out.
"please don't worry, Hank. I'll put on an old dress and help
you deliver the papers. we'll finish fast. people sleep late on Sun-
days."
"but I've already been SEEN!"
"you've already been seen? who saw you?"
"that little girl in the brown house with the weeds on West-
moreland st."
"you mean Myra?"
"I don't know her name!"
"she's only 3."
"I don't know how old she is! she asked about the dog!"
"what about the dog?"
"she asked where it WAS!"
"come on, I'll help you get rid of the papers."
Kathy was climbing into an old ripped dress."
"I got rid of them. it's over. I dumped them into the back of
that abandoned car."
"will they catch you?"
"FUCK! who cares?"
I went into the kitchen and got a beer. when I got back Kathy
was in bed again. I sat in the chair.
"Kathy?"
"uh?"
"you just don't realize who you're living with! I'm class, real
class! I'm 34 but I haven't worked 6 or 7 months since I was 18
years old. and no money. look at my hands! I've got hands like a
pianist!"
"Class? you OUGHT to HEAR yourself when you're drunk!
you're horrible, horrible!"
"are you trying to start some shit again, Kathy? I've kept you
in furs and hundred proof since I dug you outa that gin mill on
Alvarado st."
Kathy didn't answer.
"in fact," I told here, "I am a genius but nobody knows it but
me."
"I'll buy that," she said. then she dug her head into the pillow
and went back to sleep.
I finished the beer, had another, then went 3 blocks over and
sat on the steps of a closed grocery store that the map said would be
the meeting place where the man would pick me up. I sat there from
10 a.m. to 2:30 a.m. 9t was dull and dry and stupid and torturous
and senseless. then the rotten truck came at 2:30 p.m.
"hey. buddy?"
"yum?"
"you finished already?"
"yum."
"you're fast!"
"yep."
"I want you to help this one guy finish his route."
oh, fuck.
I got into the truck and then he let me off. here was this guy.
he was CREEPING. he threw each paper with great care upon each
porch. each porch got special treatment. and he seemed to enjoy his
work. he was on his last block. I finished the whole thing off in 5
minutes. then we sat and waited for the truck. for an hour.
they drove us back to the office and we sat in our school
chairs again. then two snot-nosed kids came out with cans of beer in
their hands. one called off names and the other gave each man his
money.
on a blackboard written in chalk behind the heads of the
snot-noses was a message:
ANY MAN WHO WORKS FOR US 30 DAYS IN A ROW
WITHOUT MISSING A DAY
WILL BE GIVEN
A FREE
SECOND HAND SUIT.
I kept watching as each man was handed his money. it
couldn't be true. it APPEARED that each man was given three one
dollar bills. at the time, the lowest basic wage scale by law was one
dollar an hour. I had been on that corner at 4:30 a.m. now it was
4:30 p.m. to me, that was 12 hours.
I was one of the last names called. I think I was 3rd from last.
not a one of those bums raised hell. they just took the $3 and went
out the door.
"Bukowski!" the snot-nosed kid hollered.
I walked up. the other snot-nosed kid counted out 3 very clean
and crisp Washingtons.
"listen," I said, "don't you guys realize that there is a basic
wage law? one buck an hour."
the snot-nose raised his beer. "we deduct for transportation,
breakfast and so forth. we only pay for average working time which
we figure to be about 3 hours or so."
"I see twelve hours out of my life and I've got to take a bus
downtown now to go get my car and drive in back in."
"you're lucky to have a car."
"and you're lucky I don't jam that can of beer up your ass!"
"I don't set company policy, sir, please don't blame me."
"I'm going to report you to the State Labor Board!"
"Robinson!" the other snot-nose hollered.
the next to last burn got p from his seat for his $3 as I walked
out the door and on up to Beverly blvd. to wait for the bus. by the
time I got home and got a drink in my hand it was 6 p.m. or so. I
really got drunk then. I was so frustrated I banged Kathy 3 times.
broke a window. cut my foot on broken glass. sang songs from
Gilbert and Sullivan, which I once learned from an insane English
teacher who taught an English class which began at 7 a.m. in the
morning. L.A.City College. Richardson was his name. and maybe he
wasn't insane. but he taught me Gilbert and Sullivan and gave me a
"d" in English for showing up no sooner than 7:30 a.m. with hang-
over, WHEN I showed. but that's something else. Kathy and I had
some laughs that night, and although I broke a few things I was not
as nasty and stupid as usual.
and that Tuesday at Hollywood Park I won $140 at the races
and I was once again the quite casual lover, hustler, gambler, re-
formed pimp and tulip grower. I drove slowly up the driveway,
savoring the last of the evening sun. then I strolled in through the
back door. Kathy had on some meat loaf with plenty of onions and
crap and spices in it just the way I liked it. she was bent over at the
stove and I grabbed her from the back.
"ooooo-"
"listen, baby-"
"yeah?"
she stood there with the large dripping spoon in her hand. I
slipped ten into the neck of her dress.
"I want you to get me a fifth of whiskey."
"sure, sure."
"and some beer and cigars. I'll watch the food."
she took off her apron and went into the bathroom for a
moment. I could hear her humming. a moment later I sat in my chair
and listened to her heels clicking down the drive. there was a tennis
ball. I took the tennis ball and bounced it on the floor so it hit the
wall and zoomed high into the air. the dog who was 5 feet long and
3 feet tall, + wolf, leaped into the air, there was the snap of teeth
and he had that tennis ball, up near the ceiling. for a moment he
seemed to hang up there. what a beautiful dog, what a beautiful life.
when he hit the floor I got up to check the meatloaf. it was all right.
everything was.
===
**NON-HORSESHIT HORSE ADVICE**
so, the Hollywood Park meet has begun, and naturally I have been out a
couple of times, and the scene is not very variable: the horses look the
same and the people a little worse, the horseplayer is a combination of
extreme conceit, madness and greed. one of Freud's main pupils(I don't
recall his name right now, only remem- ber reading the book) said that
gambling is a substitute for masturba- tion. of course, the problem with any
direct statement is that it can easily become an untruth, a part truth, a
lie or a wilted gardenia. yet, checking out the ladies (between races) I do
find the same oddity: before the first race they sit with their skirts down
as much as possible, and as each race proceeds the skirts climb higher and
high- er, until just before the 9th race it takes all one's facilities not
to commit rape upon one of the darlings. whether it is a sense of
masturbation that causes this or whether the dear little things need rent
and bean money, I don't know, probably a combo. I saw one lady leap over 2
or 3 rows of seats after getting a winner, and screaming, screeching, divine
as an iced-grapefruit vodka across the top of a hangover. "she's getting
hers now," said my girlfriend.
"yeah," I said, "but I wish I had gotten there first."
for those of you unfamiliar with the basic principles of horse-
wagering, allow me to divert you with a few basics. the difficulty in the
average person leaving the track with any money at all is easily propounded
if you will follow this - the track and the state take roughly 15% out of
each dollar bet, plus breakage. the 15% is di= vided about in half between
the state and the track. in other words, 85 cents out of each dollar is
returned to the holders of winning tickets. breakage is the penny difference
on the ten cent breakdown of the payoff. in other words, say if the
totalizer machine breaks the payoff down to a $16.84 payoff, then the
winning player gets $16.80, the 4 cents on each winning bet going elsewhere.
now I am not sure, because the thing in not publicized but I also believe
that on, say, a $16.89 payoff, the payoff is still $16.80 and the 9 cents
goes elsewhere, but I am not positive of this and "Open City" cer- tainly
can't afford a libel suit now or ever and neither can I, so I will not make
this a positive presumption, but if any "Open City" reader has the facts on
this, I do wish he would write O.C. and advise me, this penny breakage alone
could make millionaires out of any of us.
now take the average goof who has worked all week and is looking for a
little bit of luck, entertainment, masturbation, take 40 of them, give them
each $100, and presuming that they are average bettors, the general medium
based upon a 15% take, forgetting breakage, would have 40 of them leaving
with $85. but it doesn't work that way 0 35 of them will leave almost
completely broke, one or two of them will win $85 or $150 by sheer fortune
of falling upon the right horses and not knowing why. the 3 or 4 others will
break even.
all right, then, who is getting all this money that the little bettor
who works a turret lathe or drives a bus all week, losers? easy: the betting
stables who send off bad-form horses in a spot that it is profitable for
them to win in. stables cannot make it upon purse money alone, that is, most
of them can't. give a stable a top handi- cap horse and they are in, but
even they must resort to pulls and deliberately bad races in order to get
weight off for a top money race. in other words, say a top-weighted horse
gifted with 130 pounds by the track handicapper for an early $25,000 race
will tend to lose this race and get weight off on that performance for a
later $100,000 race. now these statements cannot be proven but if you will
follow this conjecture you might make a little money or at least save a
little. but it is the stables who must race in the lower class races with
lower purses who must maneuver their horses for a price. in some cases, the
owner of the horse or horses himself is not aware of the maneuvering; this
is because trainers and grooms, hot-walkers, exercise jocks are grossly
underpaid (in time and effort put in, com- pared to other industries) and
their only way to get out is to put one over. the racetracks are aware of
this and attempt to keep the game clean, to give it a holy sheen of honesty,
but for all their efforts- barring tough guys, cons, syndicates, operators,
from the track, there are still "goodies" put over on the crowd, a so-called
pig who "wakes up" and wins by 3 to 10 lengths at odds of 5 to up to 50 to1.
but these are only animals, not machines. so there's an excuse, an excuse to