“What’s a guy like you doing in a place like this?” We got into my car and she told me where she lived. We stopped for a couple of big steaks, vegetables, stuff for a salad, potatoes, b...

the Mexican dancer shook her fans… me and her ass at me, I didn’t ask her to and my woman got mad and ran out of th… it began raining and you could hea…

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.

the rag. she sat there, glooming. I couldn’t do anything with her. it was raining. she got up and left.

he sits all day at the bus stop at Sunset and Western his sleeping bag beside him. he’s dirty. nobody bothers him.

Then I developed a new system at the racetrack. I pulled in $3,000 in a month and a half while only going to the track two or three times a week. I began to dream. I saw a little house ...

maybe I’ll win the Irish Sweepsta… maybe I’ll go nuts maybe Harcourt Brace will call or maybe unemployment insurance or rich lesbian at the top of a hill.

I could see the road ahead of me. I was poor and I was going to stay poor. But I didn’t particularly want money. I didn’t know what I wanted. Yes, I did. I wanted someplace to hide out,...

Vallejo writing about loneliness while starving to death; Van Gogh’s ear rejected by a whore;

the critics now have me drinking champagne and driving a BMW and also married to a socialite from

the lair of the hunted is hidden in the last place you’d ever look and even if you find it you won’t believe

listening to Wagner as outside in the dark the wind bl… trees wave and shake lights go off and on the walls creak and the… bed...