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

Our man was there to meet us, Gary Benson. He also wrote poetry and drove a cab. He was very fat but at least he didn’t look like a poet, he didn’t look North Beach or East Village or l...

all of a sudden I’m a painter. a girl from Galveston gives me $50 for a painting of a man holding a candycane while floating in a darkened sky.

I was sitting next to a young girl who d… “Where does 2900 Roteford go?" she aske… The supervisor was talking to her. “You say you’re from Kansas City? Both… “Is that so?” said the girl.

it is like this when you slip down, done like a wound-up victrola (you remember those?) and you go downtown

this one always arrives at the wrong time a basically good sort I suppose an honest man

the weather is hot on the back of my wat… which is down at Finkelstein’s who is gifted with 3 balls but no heart, but you’ve got to understa… when the bull goes down

I read a book about John Dos Passos an… the book once radical—communist John ended up in the Hollywood Hills li… and reading the Wall Street Journal

he buys 5 cars a month, details them, wa… them out, then resells them at a profit of one or two g… he has a nice Jewish wife and he tells m… bangs her until the walls shake.

Of all the guys left in the neighborhood, Frank was the nicest. We got to be friends, we got to going around together, we didn’t need the other guys much. They had more or less kicked F...