A man from Denver called Charles Bukowski in the middle of the night and asked him to submit poems to his magazine, saying that Bukowski had developed a following in Denver. In the background, another voice was loudly insulting Bukowski, calling him names. Though the editor acknowledged they had been drinking, he still requested six poems from Bukowski. After copying down the magazine's address, Bukowski agreed to see what he could submit, then hung up. He reflected that there were many lonely people who didn't have much to occupy their nights.
A man from Denver called Charles Bukowski in the middle of the night and asked him to submit poems to his magazine, saying that Bukowski had developed a following in Denver. In the background, another voice was loudly insulting Bukowski, calling him names. Though the editor acknowledged they had been drinking, he still requested six poems from Bukowski. After copying down the magazine's address, Bukowski agreed to see what he could submit, then hung up. He reflected that there were many lonely people who didn't have much to occupy their nights.
A man from Denver called Charles Bukowski in the middle of the night and asked him to submit poems to his magazine, saying that Bukowski had developed a following in Denver. In the background, another voice was loudly insulting Bukowski, calling him names. Though the editor acknowledged they had been drinking, he still requested six poems from Bukowski. After copying down the magazine's address, Bukowski agreed to see what he could submit, then hung up. He reflected that there were many lonely people who didn't have much to occupy their nights.
Denver..." "yeah?" "yeah, I got a magazine and I want some poems from you..." "FUCK YOU, CHINASKI!" I heard a voice in the background... "I see you have a friend, " I said. "yeah, " he answered, "now, I want six poems..." "CHINASKI SUCKS! CHINASKI'S A PRICK!" I heard the other voice. "you fellows been drinking?" I asked. "so what?" he answered. "you drink." "that's true..." "CHINASKI'S AN ASSHOLE!" then the editor of the magazine gave me the address and I copied it down on the back of an envelope. "send us some poems now..." "I'll see what I can do..." "CHINASKI WRITES SHIT!" "goodbye, " I said. "goodbye, " said the editor. I hung up. there are certainly any number of lonely people without much to do with their nights.
MIKHAIL BULGAKOV. SHORT STORIES COLLECTION: THE CUP OF LIFE, KOMAROV CASE, MOSCOW SETTINGS, PSALM, MOONSHINE SPRINGS, SEANCE, SHIFTING ACCOMMODATION, THE BEER STORY, THE EMBROIDERED TOWEL