Charles Bukowski — The Worlds Greatest Loser Live

the world's greatest loser he used to sell papers in front "getcha winners! get rich on a dime!" and about the third or fourth race you’d see him rolling on his rotten board, with his roller skates underneath he'd propel himself along on his hands he just had small stumps for legs and the rims of the skate wheels were worn off you could see inside the wheels and they would wobble something awful shooting and flashing imperialistic sparks he moved faster than anybody rolled cigarette dangling, you could hear him coming "god almighty! what was that?" the new ones ask he was the world's greatest loser but he never gave up wheeling toward the two dollar window screaming "its the four horse you fools! how the hell you gonna beat the four!?" up on the board the four would be reading sixty to one i never heard him pick a winner they say he slept in the bushes i guess that’s where he died he's not around anymore there was a big fat blonde who kept touching him for luck and laughing nobody had any luck the whore is gone too i guess nothing ever works for us we're fools, of course bucking the inside plus a fifteen percent take how are you going to tell a dreamer when there's a fifteen percent take on the dream he'll just laugh and say, "is that all?" i miss those sparks