Failed English. Found Bukowski.

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Carlos failed English his senior year of high school. Hemingway couldn't save him. Steinbeck couldn't either. Then he picked up Charles Bukowski's Post Office.

It was crude, funny, unapologetic and unlike anything he'd been assigned to read. It turned a kid who hated books into a reader.

More than twenty years later, Carlos picks it up again and hands it to Sam. She reads it like a tax form. Carlos remembers an underdog worth rooting for.

They argue over Henry Chinaski's failures, the women he loses and the humor buried in the wreckage. Somewhere in there, the book stops being about the post office. The book hasn't changed. Carlos has.

And there's a difference between reading something and recognizing it.

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