there waas a rock-and-mud slide on the Pacific Coast Highway and… detour and they directed us up int… and traffic was slow and it was ho… we were lost.

my daughter is most glorious. we are eating a takeout snack in my car in Santa Monica.

I get many phonecalls now. They are all alike. “are you Charles Bukowski, the writer?” “yes,” I tell them.

the canaries were there, and the l… and the old woman with warts; and I was there, a child and I touched the piano keys as they talked—

well, first Mae West died and then George Raft, and Eddie G. Robinson’s been gone long time,

the waste of words continues with a stunning persistence as the waiter runs by carrying the… tray

I suppose so. I was living in an attic in Phila… it became very hot in the summer a… bars. I didn’t have any money and… I put a small ad in the paper and…

he carried a piece of carbon, a blade and a whip and at night he feared his head and covered it with blankets

That evening I started drinking. It wasn’t going to be easy without Katherine. I found some things she had left behind—earrings, a bracelet. I’ve got to get back to the typewriter, I th...

when I look back now at the abuse I took from her I feel shame that I was so innocent,

The first three or four days at Mears-Starbuck were identical. In fact, similarity was a very dependable thing at Mears-Starbuck. The caste system was an accepted fact. There wasn’t a s...

I used to take the back off the telephone and stuff it with ra… and when somebody knocked I wouldn’t answer and if they pers… I’d tell them in terms vulgar

terror finally becomes almost bearable but never quite terror creeps like a cat crawls like a cat