he showed me his buttocks

I had worked there 14 years, mostly
on the night shift, eleven and one half
hours a night.

one day out at the track this fellow
walked up to me.
“hey, man,” he said to me.
“hello,” I answered.
I didn’t remember him.
there had been 3 or 4 thousand of us
in that building.

“I wondered what happened to you,”
he went on, “did you retire?”
“no, I quit,” I told him.
“you quit? then what’d you
“I wrote some books.
I got lucky.
got translated into 16 languages.”

without a further word he turned
and walked off.

he thought it was bullshit.

well, maybe it was.
but at least it was my bullshit, not

Charles Bukowski
Original manuscript