Charles Bukowski at Poetic Outlaws: “The Killers” is a short story by Charles Bukowski in his 1973 collection, South of No North. Bukowski, greatly influenced by Hemingway, admitted his artistic debt to the great writer when writing this story. Hemingway, too, had a short story with the same title.
Bukowski is known mostly for his poetry, but his short stories contain much juice. Much of them read like his grimy poetry. They’re hilarious, at times vulgar, and always amusing. He’s a master of wit and a no-bullshit approach to getting the word down.
He once said, “I mean, I write poems, stories, novels. The poems are basically true, the rest is truth mixed with fiction. Do you know what fiction is? … Fiction is an improvement on life.”
The following is a great passage from his short story: The Killers:
They were open.
The Mexican girl who gave him his coffee looked at him as if he were a human being. The poor knew life. A good girl. Well, a good enough girl. They all meant trouble.
Everything meant trouble.
He remembered a statement he’d heard somewhere: the Definition of Life is Trouble.
Harry sat down at one of the old tables. The coffee was good. Thirty-eight years old and he was finished. He sipped at the coffee and remembered where he had gone wrong—or right.
He’d simply gotten tired of the insurance game, of the small offices and high glass partitions, the clients; he’d simply gotten tired of cheating on his wife, of squeezing secretaries in the elevator and in the halls; he’d gotten tired of Christmas parties and New Year’s parties and birthdays, and payments on new cars and furniture payments—light, gas, water—the whole bleeding complex of necessities.
He’d gotten tired and quit, that’s all.
The divorce came soon enough and the drinking came soon enough, and suddenly he was out of it. He had nothing, and he found out that having nothing was difficult too. It was another type of burden. If only there were some gentler road in between.
It seemed a man only had two choices—get in on the hustle or be a bum.
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