Factotum Page #3

I didn't see Manny again, and I missed

the trips to the track with him.

But I had my winnings

and the bookie money.

I just sat around and Jan liked that.

After two weeks

I was on unemployment.

We relaxed and f***ed

and toured the bars.

Every week I'd go down,

stand in line and get my check.

Hank?

I love you.

Here's a ten-dollar try

on the four with one and two.

The racetrack crowd

is the world brought down to size.

Life grinding against

death and losing.

Nobody wins finally,

we're only seeking a reprieve.

A moment out of the glare.

- Sir, you're in our seats.

- There are no reserved seats here.

I know. But it's a common courtesy.

Some people get her early.

Poor people, like you and me,

who can't afford reserved seats.

They lay down newspapers

to indicate that these seats are saved.

If the poor aren't decent with one

another nobody else is going to be.

I am not poor.

If you can't be a gentleman,

at least don't be a hog.

Jan, sit down.

I'll stand.

Come on four.

Let's get a drink.

That man in our seats, he's got nerve.

- I don't like the guy.

- He sure got your goat.

He was just a little guy.

If he'd been big

you wouldn't have done anything either.

What do you do for a living?

Real estate.

I make 500000 a year.

Then why don't you

get yourself a reserved seat?

That's my prerogative.

You know, you have

the nicest blue eyes.

You got a cigarette?

- Pardon me, but you are in my seat.

- And what are you going to do about it?

Pardon me.

Come on, baby.

How do you feel?

I feel bad.

I want to be alone.

You don't have enough love.

It's warped you.

People don't need love. They need

success of some form or another.

It can be love

but it doesn't have to be.

The Bible says:
'Love thy neighbor.'

That could also mean:

Leave him alone.

One half is yours.

- It's another woman, isn't it?

- No.

- You don't love me anymore.

- Stop that sh*t, would you?

You're tired of f***ing me.

Hank, stay with me.

Here, take it.

You'll manage.

Hank...

Even at my lowest times I can feel

the words bubbling inside of me.

I had to get them down -

- or be overcome

by something worse than death.

Words, not as precious things

but as necessary things.

Yet, when I begin to doubt

my ability to work the word -

- I simply read another writer and

I know I have nothing to worry about.

My contest is only with myself,

to do it right.

With power and force.

And delight and gamble.

I'll have a scotch, please.

Bartender, I'll have another one.

And get the little lady

whatever she's having.

That drink was my last. I'm broke.

Are you serious?

- Do you have a place to stay?

- No.

And you haven't got any money,

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