Read Online Willard and His Bowling Trophies by Richard Brautigan - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Richard Brautigan
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thirty minutes of the Johnny Carson show, he was ready to sleep like a babe.
“We have three turkey sandwiches,” Patricia said.
“What do you mean?” John said.
Patricia motioned her head toward the TV set. She didn’t like television very much. She had never had any problem sleeping at night, so she just didn’t understand.
Dust
All of Bob’s tears were dry now and turning to dust on his cheeks. It was a little after midnight. He and Constance were totally exhausted. There wasn’t a single emotion left for them to feel.
“Let’s go for a walk,” Bob said.
“All right,” Constance said.
They got up from the kitchen table and went into the hall. Constance was going to turn the light out as she left the kitchen, but then she thought: What difference does it make?
None.
They got their coats out of the closet.
When they left the apartment, Bob tried to lock the front door but he wasn’t able to do it right the first time he tried, so he had to lock the door a second time before he actually got it locked.
All of the lights in the apartment were on.
And Constance didn’t care.
Finally something to replace bowling
The Logan brothers held up their first filling station in New Mexico. They had left Kansas three weeks before. The only reason they were in New Mexico was because of the bowling trophies. They had gone to New Mexico for the same reason they had gone to Kansas because they had to go someplace and one place was just as good as another if you’re looking for stolen bowling trophies in America and you haven’t the slightest idea where they’re at.
The station was just outside of Albuquerque.
They needed some money and they were tired of stealing little things. It took too much time. It took as much energy to steal six little things as it took to steal one medium thing: like holding up a filling station, which would also give them the opportunity to get a tank of gas in the bargain.
So one day in Albuquerque the Logans talked it over and decided to go into the business of holding up filling stations. And the fact that they could get free gas by doing this weighed heavily in their decision.
While they were talking it over, one of the brothers said, “I’m tired of stealing rugs.”
The other brothers agreed.
“I’m also very tired of stealing newspaper racks.”
The other brothers told him that they would never do anything like that again.
The filling station was on the edge of Albuquerque. It only had one attendant. He was an old man who was tired of pumping gas. It was toward the end of his shift and he looked forward to going home and drinking some beer and watching television.
He’d had it for that day.
Pooped.
The Logan brothers drove into the station and told the attendant to fill it up.
“Regular or ethyl?”
“Ethyl,” one of the brothers said.
Normally, they ordered regular. It was going to be ethyl from now on out for the Logan brothers,
“Check the oil, too,” one of them said.
The attendant checked the oil while the tank was being filled with gas. He took a careful look at the dip stick. He had to because he needed glasses but he wouldn’t get them because he was too vain. He’d been quite a ladies’ man in his youth but you couldn’t tell it by looking at him now. He just looked like any other old man you’d see on the street.
“It’s down two quarts,” he said.
“Put some in,” a Logan brother said. “30 weight. Your best.”
“OK,” the old man said, and tiredly went and got the oil.
After the car was filled with gas and oil, the old man informed the Logan brothers that the cost for these items would be $11.75.
“Cash or credit?” he said.
“Neither,” one of them said, getting out of the car.
The Logan brother did not have a gun but he had something bulging in his coat pocket that simulated one.
“This is a stickup.” He liked it when he said that. It sounded exactly like something a gangster would say in a movie. Maybe
“We have three turkey sandwiches,” Patricia said.
“What do you mean?” John said.
Patricia motioned her head toward the TV set. She didn’t like television very much. She had never had any problem sleeping at night, so she just didn’t understand.
Dust
All of Bob’s tears were dry now and turning to dust on his cheeks. It was a little after midnight. He and Constance were totally exhausted. There wasn’t a single emotion left for them to feel.
“Let’s go for a walk,” Bob said.
“All right,” Constance said.
They got up from the kitchen table and went into the hall. Constance was going to turn the light out as she left the kitchen, but then she thought: What difference does it make?
None.
They got their coats out of the closet.
When they left the apartment, Bob tried to lock the front door but he wasn’t able to do it right the first time he tried, so he had to lock the door a second time before he actually got it locked.
All of the lights in the apartment were on.
And Constance didn’t care.
Finally something to replace bowling
The Logan brothers held up their first filling station in New Mexico. They had left Kansas three weeks before. The only reason they were in New Mexico was because of the bowling trophies. They had gone to New Mexico for the same reason they had gone to Kansas because they had to go someplace and one place was just as good as another if you’re looking for stolen bowling trophies in America and you haven’t the slightest idea where they’re at.
The station was just outside of Albuquerque.
They needed some money and they were tired of stealing little things. It took too much time. It took as much energy to steal six little things as it took to steal one medium thing: like holding up a filling station, which would also give them the opportunity to get a tank of gas in the bargain.
So one day in Albuquerque the Logans talked it over and decided to go into the business of holding up filling stations. And the fact that they could get free gas by doing this weighed heavily in their decision.
While they were talking it over, one of the brothers said, “I’m tired of stealing rugs.”
The other brothers agreed.
“I’m also very tired of stealing newspaper racks.”
The other brothers told him that they would never do anything like that again.
The filling station was on the edge of Albuquerque. It only had one attendant. He was an old man who was tired of pumping gas. It was toward the end of his shift and he looked forward to going home and drinking some beer and watching television.
He’d had it for that day.
Pooped.
The Logan brothers drove into the station and told the attendant to fill it up.
“Regular or ethyl?”
“Ethyl,” one of the brothers said.
Normally, they ordered regular. It was going to be ethyl from now on out for the Logan brothers,
“Check the oil, too,” one of them said.
The attendant checked the oil while the tank was being filled with gas. He took a careful look at the dip stick. He had to because he needed glasses but he wouldn’t get them because he was too vain. He’d been quite a ladies’ man in his youth but you couldn’t tell it by looking at him now. He just looked like any other old man you’d see on the street.
“It’s down two quarts,” he said.
“Put some in,” a Logan brother said. “30 weight. Your best.”
“OK,” the old man said, and tiredly went and got the oil.
After the car was filled with gas and oil, the old man informed the Logan brothers that the cost for these items would be $11.75.
“Cash or credit?” he said.
“Neither,” one of them said, getting out of the car.
The Logan brother did not have a gun but he had something bulging in his coat pocket that simulated one.
“This is a stickup.” He liked it when he said that. It sounded exactly like something a gangster would say in a movie. Maybe
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