Dumbledore's death in the style of Charles Bukowski
by Jonas Svensson


Killing time on a barstool at Potter's, you soon get to know most of the winos & coppers & whores & punch-drunks passing through the door. But this odd old-timer at the corner table sure is something else. Hasn't seen a razor since birth, a great white beard reaching to the floor. He probably use it as a trunk, sucking up the puddles of alcohol from the dirty floor under the table. Stranger things have happened at Potter's.

Remember when that wierd chick Rowling picked a fight with a dozen drunk demons. Or at least that's what she called 'em. Anyway, dressed in his feminine cape and long toga, the man looks like a drag queen Santa. A true misfit. I ask Harry, the bartender, if he knows the strange figure.

"Oh, that's Albus", he says, "Albus Dumbledore, he stops by every fifty years or so, for a couple of Millers and some action".

Dumbledore? What kind of name is that? I get curious, and stagger across the room.

"You Dumbledore?" I ask, putting my beer down on the table. The man looks up at me with foam in his beard, and wrinkles his bushy eyebrows.

"Yes!? And who might you be?"

"Bukowski! But you can call me Hank, all my friends do. My enemies as well."

"Ah, you're that American author, eh, writing all that realistic crap!? Do me a favour and leave me alone."

Uhu, this guy really puzzles me. Popping up from nowhere like some tripping hippie, being rude and refusing to accept the realities of life.

"Come again, old man?!"

"Now listen to me you very ugly person, if you don't leave right now I'll have to put a spell on you, and we wouldn't like that, would we?"

"I've got some pretty good spells of my own you know..."

I finish my beer, lean forward, and give Mr Dumbledore all I've got. Potter is already on the phone, dialing 666. It's one o'clock am, and the evening is already turning for the better.


Jonas Svensson is a writer, editor, translator, blogger (so far only in swedish) & football (as in soccer, for those of you on the western shores of the Atlantic) hooligan living in Malmö, sweden. The next issue of his fanzine has been a few years in production, but may appear some time. He's one of, so far, three people in sweden published in broadside format.

I solicited this story from him, because I don't know how long Guardian will keep it online & because I liked it. It was first published by Guardian on july 12, 2005. A tuesday