gargamelshitsblu

I'm re-reading On the road, and this part stuck out at me:

"'I told some boys in there to keep quiet and they're still making noise. I told them twice. I always give a man two chances. Not three. You come with me and I'm going back there and arrest them.'

'Well, let me give them a third chance,' I said, 'I'll talk to them.'

'No, sir, I never give a man more than two chances.' I sighed. Here we go. We went off to the offending room, and Sledge opened the door and told everybody to file out. It was embarrasing. Every single one of us was blushing. This is the story of America. Everybody's doing what they think they're supposed to do. So what if a bunch of men talk in loud voices and drink the night?"

Not going to offer an explanation besides that it seems relevant to me still, nearly 50 years after it was written.

It reminded me of a Bukowski poem that has stuck with me:
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fuck

she pulled her dress off
over her head
and I saw the panties
indented somewhat into the
crotch.

it's only human.
now we've got to do it.
I've got to do it
after all that bluff.
it's like a party--
two trapped
idiots.

under the sheets
after I have snapped
off the light
her panties are still
on. she expects an
opening performance.
I can't blame her. but
wonder why she's here with
me? where are the other
guys? how can you be so
lucky? having someone the
others have abandoned?

We didn't have to do it
yet we had to do it.
it was something like
establishing new credibility
with the income tax
man. I get the panties
off. I decide not to
tongue her. even then
I'm thinking about
after it's over.

we'll sleep together
tonight
trying to fit ourselves
inside the wallpaper.

I try, fail,
notice the hair on her
head
mostly notice the hair
on her
head
and a glimpse of
nostrils
piglike

I try it
again.
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question: If you had to pair irish whiskey and ice cream - what ice cream would you choose?