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Eat Your Heart Out

 I've come by, she says, to tell you
that this is it.
I'm not kidding, it's over.
this is it.
I sit on the couch watching her arrange her long red hair before my bedroom mirror.
she pulls her hair up and piles it on top of her head- she lets her eyes look at my eyes- then she drops her hair and lets it fall down in front of her face.
we go to bed and I hold her speechlessly from the back my arm around her neck I touch her wrists and hands feel up to her elbows no further.
she gets up.
this is it, she says, this will do.
well, I'm going.
I get up and walk her to the door just as she leaves she says, I want you to buy me some high-heeled shoes with tall thin spikes, black high-heeled shoes.
no, I want them red.
I watch her walk down the cement walk under the trees she walks all right and as the pointsettas drip in the sun I close the door.

by Charles Bukowski
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