the interviewer

the interviewer had his little list of questions and he squinted
under the hot camera light, asking me the questions.
he was trying to   nail me as a child-molester,
woman-hater and as an unsavory human being.
“who made up this list of questions for
you, some female-libber?” I asked him.
“no,” he said.
I patiently went on to explain why I had written certain things
and what they meant.
“but you make the women you’ve lived with as hateful and hard…”
“you’re not listening, my friend… many of them were and I’ve
tried to explain to you that there can be discouraging women
as well as discouraging men and that I write of people as I
conceive them to be…
“do you find women repulsive?”
he wasn’t listening, he was just reading his list of questions.
all of which were rather silly, but I answered them as gently
and fully as possible.
then it was over and the lights were off, I poured drinks for
the crew and the interviewer.
it was just another wasted night
but then
most of them
are.

Author
Charles Bukowski
Written
1990
Source
Original manuscript