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<novel>                               
                   
 <front>
  <title>pulp</title>   
  <author>Charles Bukowski</author>

  <revision-list>
   <item>This version by Daniel Parker</item>
  </revision-list>
 </front>

<body>                                                        
 
<chapter id="chapt01">
<title>1</title>


<para>
I was sitting in my office, my lease had expired and McKelvey was starting
eviction proceedings. It was a hellish hot day and the air conditioner was
broken.  A fly crawled across the top of my desk.  I reached out with the
open palm of my hand and sent him out of the game.  I wiped my hand on my right
pants leg as the phone rang.
</para>

<para>
I picked it up.  &ldquo;Ah yes,&rdquo; I said.
</para>

<para>
&ldquo;Do you read Celine?&rdquo; A female voice asked.  Her voice sounded quite sexy.
I had been lonely for some time.  Decades.
</para>

<para>
&ldquo;I want Celine,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;I've got to have him.&rdquo;
</para>

<para>
Such a sexy voice, it was getting to me, really.
</para>

<para>
&ldquo;Celine?&rdquo;  I said. &ldquo;Give me a little background. Talk to me, lady. Keep talking...&rdquo;
</para>

<para>
&ldquo;Zip up,&rdquo; she said.
</para>

<para>
I looked down.
</para>

<para>
&ldquo;How did you know?&rdquo; I asked.
</para>

<para>
&ldquo;Never mind.  I want Celine.&rdquo;
</para>

<para>
&ldquo;Celine is dead.&rdquo;
</para>

<para>
&ldquo;He isn't.  I want yout to find him.  I want him.&rdquo;
</para>

<para>
&ldquo;I might find his bones.&rdquo;
</para>

<para>
&ldquo;No, you fool, he's alive.&rdquo;
</para>

<para>
&ldquo;Where?&rdquo;
</para>

<para>
&ldquo;Hollywood.  I hear he's been hanging around Red Koldowsky's bookstore.&rdquo;
</para>

<para>
&ldquo;Then why don't you find him?&rdquo;
</para>

<para>
&ldquo;Because first I want to know if he's the real Celine.  I have to be sure, quite sure.&rdquo;
</para>

<para>
&ldquo;But why did you come to me. There are a hundred dicks in this town.&rdquo;
</para>

<para>
&ldquo;John Barton recommended you.&rdquo;
</para>

<para>
&ldquo;Oh, Barton, yeah.  Well, listen, I'll have to have some kind of advance.
And I'll have to see you personally.&rdquo;
</para>

<para>
&ldquo;I'll be there in a few minutes,&rdquo; she said.
</para>

<para>
She hung up.  I zipped up.
</para>

<para>
And waited.
</para>

</chapter>
 
<chapter id="chapt01">
<title>2</title>

<para>
She walked in.
</para>

<para>
Now, I mean, it just wasn't fair.  Her dress fit so tight it almost split the seams.
Too many chocolate malts.  And she walked on heels so high they looked like little
stilts.  She walked like a drunken cripple, staggering around the room.  A glorious 
dizziness of flesh.
</para>

<para>
&ldquo;Sit down, lady,&rdquo; I said.
</para>

<para>
She put it down and crossed her legs high, damn near knocking my eyes out.
</para>

<para>
&ldquo;It's good to see you, lady,&rdquo; I said.
</para>

<para>
&ldquo;Stop gawking, please. It's nothing that you haven't seen before.&rdquo;
</para>

<para>
&ldquo;You're wrong there, lady. Now may I have your name?&rdquo;
</para>

<para>
&ldquo;Lady Death.&rdquo;
</para>

<para>
&ldquo;Lady Death? You from the circus? The movies?&rdquo;
</para>

<para>
&ldquo;No.&rdquo;
</para>

<para>
[NOTE: excerpt from Pulp by Charles Bukowski, Black Sparrow Press, Santa Rosa, 1996]
</para>

</chapter>

</body>

</novel>
