And from
Open All Night:
it's difficult when bananas eat monkeys
it's partly the burning and it's partly the muddy
water and partly the voices"”
(the faces I've adjusted to; the years have given
me something)
but when the faces
speak
it makes no pleasure to linger in the crowd.
maybe the truly original man doesn't exist. I
have never met him.
sometimes I think it will be the parking lot attendant. he
walks toward me. he smiles. ah, here it comes, I
think.
then he says, "hi sport," or something else equally flat and
dumb.
I reply with a sentence that sails over his
left shoulder and flames out
on a green balcony across the
street.
I give him my keys
I give him my car
he drives off and I walk into the
place.
the hostess walks
up. "yes?" she
says.
yes, what? I've got to eat so I can
live. I follow her buttocks
(they have a certain minor charm) but I keep
thinking
I've got to tip that son-of-a-bitch out there
when he should be
guillotined.