"Balls," he said, "I'm tired of painting. Let's go out. I'm tired of the stink of oils, I'm tired of being great. I'm tired of waiting to die. Let's go out." "Go out where?" she asked.
"Anywhere. Eat, drink, see."
"Jorg," she said, "what will I do when you die?"
"You will eat, sleep, fuck, piss, shit, clothe yourself, walk around and bitch."
"I need security."
"We all do."
"I mean, we're not married. I won't even be able to collect your insurance."
"That's all right, don't worry about it. Besides, you don't believe in marriage, Arlene."
Arlene was sitting in the pink chair reading the afternoon newspaper. "You say five thousand women want to sleep with you. Where does that leave me?"
"Five thousand and one."
"You think I can't get another man?"
"No, there's no problem for you. You can get another man in three minutes."
"You think I need a great painter?"
"No, you don't. A good plumber would do."
"Yes, as long as he loved me."
Charles Bukowski, Hot Water Music (Livro de contos traduzido no Brasil com o título Numa Fria)
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