Charles Bukowski A Veces Estoy Tan Solo Que Tiene Sentido Pdf I 【INSTANT】

He looked at the cockroach again. Then he looked at the last line he’d written. He smiled. Not because he was happy. But because the cockroach, at least, had died doing what it loved. Nothing.

He looked at the typewriter. The carriage was stuck. A half-finished poem sat in the roller. It was called “PDF I.” He didn’t know what PDF meant. Portable Document Format? That was too clean. Too corporate. For Henry, it meant Puta, Dios, y Fútbol. Whore, God, and Soccer. Three things that had never saved a single soul.

And it was enough.

The title at the top of the page read:

The phone doesn’t ring because the wire is cut. The mail doesn’t come because the box is empty. The woman doesn’t come back because she finally got smart. I am a museum of bad decisions. Admission: your last good day.

He stared at the last line. It was a lie. He couldn’t remember a good day. There were days that were less bad. Days where the landlord forgot to knock. Days where the corner store gave him credit. But a good day? That was a myth for people who believed in God or mutual funds.

I am so alone that the walls have started to listen. They don’t answer, but they don’t leave either. That’s more than most people. He looked at the cockroach again

“See?” he mumbled to the empty room. “Even the pests give up.”

Just the dark.

“A veces estoy tan solo que tiene sentido,” he said aloud, rolling the Spanish like a loose coin on his tongue. Sometimes I am so lonely it makes sense. Not because he was happy

He stopped. The sun was a rumor behind the buildings. A garbage truck groaned in the distance. Life was starting again. The terrible machinery of morning. Showers. Coffee. Lies. Handshakes. He hated all of it.

Then he wrote: