Hell is a lonely place
By Charles Bukowski
he was 65, his wife was 66, had Alzheimer's disease. he had cancer of the mouth. there were operations, radiation treatments which decayed the bones in his jaw which then had to be wired. daily he put his wife in rubber diapers like a baby. unable to drive in his condition he had to take a taxi to the medical center, had difficulty speaking, had to write the directions down. on his last visit they informed him there would be another operation: a bit more left cheek and a bit more tounge. when he returned he changed his wife's diapers put on the tv dinners, watched the evening news then went to the bedroom, got the gun, put it to her temple, fired. she fell to the left, he sat upon the couch put the gun into his mouth, pulled the trigger. the shots didn't arouse the neighbors. later the burning tv dinners did. somebody arrived, pushed the door open, saw it. soon the police arrived and went through their routine, found some items: a closed savings account and a checkbook with a balance of $1.14 suicide, they deduced. in three weeks there were two new tenants: a computer engineer named Ross and his wife Anatana who studied ballet. they looked like another upwardly mobile pair.
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