#AmericanWriters
she reads to me from the New York… which I don’t buy, don’t know how they get in here, but it’s something about the Mafia one of the heads of the Mafia
is the slim tall ear-ringed bedroom damsel dressed in a long gown
we are always asked to understand the other person’s viewpoint no matter how out—dated
the blue pencil of the wave shots of yellow road a steering wheel an insane woman sitting next to you
had lost the last race big somebody had stolen my coat could feel the flu coming on and my tires were low. I went in to get a
never even in calmer times have I ever dreamed of bicycling through that
The toughest in the station. Apartment houses with boxes that had scrubbed-out names or no names at all, under tiny lightbulbs in dark halls. Old ladies standing in halls, up and down t...
terrible arguments. and, at last, lying peacefully on her large bed which is spread in red with cool patterns o…
yesterday drunken Alice gave me a jar of fig jam and today she whistles
Our English teacher, Miss Gredis, was the absolute best. She was a blonde with a long sharp nose. Her nose wasn’t much good but you didn’t notice it when you looked at the rest of her. ...
got into my BMW and drove down to… pick up my American Express Gold… told the girl at the desk what I wanted. you’re Mr. Chinaski,” she
I was standing in line at the bank… when the old fellow in front of me dropped his glasses (luckily, with… case) and as he bent over
she wrote me a letter from a small room near the Seine. she said she was going to dancing class, she got up, she said at 5 o’clock in the morning
in the men’s room at the track this boy of about 7 or 8 years old came out of a stall
sitting in a dark bedroom with 3 j… female. brown paper bags filled with trash… everywhere. is one-thirty in the afternoon.