Back in L.A., there was almost a week of peace. Then the phone rang. It was the owner of a Manhattan Beach nightclub, Marty Seavers. I had read there a couple of times before. The club ...

I was hungover again, another heat spell was on—a week of 100 degree days. The drinking went on each night, and in the early mornings and days there was The Stone and the impossibility ...

It was hot that night at the reading, which was to be held at St. Mark’s Church. Tammie and I sat in what was used as the dressing room. Tammie found a full-length mirror leaning agains...

he got knifed in broad daylight, c… holding his hands over his gut, dr… on the pavement. nobody waiting in line left their… he made it to the Mission doorway,…

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

we were in bed and she started to fight: “you son of a bitch! you just wait… I’ll get you!” I began laughing:

I always wanted to ball Henry Miller, she said, but by the time I got there it was too late. damn it, I said, you girls

these boys have got class they ought to make kings out of old men rolling cigarettes in rooms small enough

keep remembering the horses under the moon keep remembering feeding the horse… sugar white oblongs of sugar

here comes the fishhead singing here comes the baked potato in dra… here comes nothing to do all day l… here comes another night of no sle… here comes the phone wringing the…

she cut my toenails the night befo… and in the morning she said, “I th… just lay here all day.” which meant she wasn’t going to wo… she was at my apartment—which mean…

knew you were a bad-ass,” he said. you sat in the back of Art class a… you never said anything. then I saw you in that brutal figh… with the guy with the dirty yellow