But, there were still bits of action. One guy was caught on the same stairway that I had been trapped on. He was caught there with his head under some girl’s skirt. Then one of the girl...

I was sitting with an anarchist from Beverly Hills, Ben Solvnag, who was writing my biography when I heard her footsteps on the court walk. I knew the sound—they were always fast and fr...

While working Dorsey station I heard some of the old timers needling Big Daddy Greystone about how he’d had to buy a tape recorder in order to learn his schemes. Big Daddy had read the ...

the centerfielder turns rushes back reaches up his glove and

the men phone and ask me that. are you really Charles Bukowski the writer? they ask. I’m a sometimes writer, I say, most often I don’t do anything.

this man used to be an interesting writer, he was able to say brisk and refreshing things. at the time

dying for a beer dying for and of life on a windy afternoon in Hollywood listening to symphony music from m… on the floor.

you sit on the couch with me tonight new woman. have you seen the

looking out the window smoking rolled cigarettes drinking Sanka and watching the workers come on in

I wait on life like a pregnancy, p… the gut but all I hear now is the piano slamming its teeth throu… brain

Christmas eve, alone, in a motel room down the coast near the Pacific— hear it?

the old folks play a game in the park overlooking the sea shoving markers across cement with wooden sticks. four play, two on each side

you’re a beast, she said your big white belly and those hairy feet. you never cut your nails and you have fat hands

The track had moved down the coast a hundred miles or so. I kept paying the rent on my apartment in town, got in my car and drove down. Once or twice a week I would drive back to the ap...