Every night was about the same. I’d drive along the coast looking for a place to have dinner. I wanted an expensive place that wasn’t too crowded. I developed a nose for those places. I...

she came to my place drunk riding a deer up on the front porc… so many women want to save the wor… but can’t keep their own kitchens… but me...

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

Tammie came by that night. She appeared to be high on uppers. “I want some champagne,” she said. Then the phone rang. It was Lydia. “I just wondered how you were doing. ...” “You know D...

I drank for the next week. I drank night and day and wrote 25 or 30 mournful poems about lost love. It was Friday night when the phone rang. It was Mercedes. “I got married,” she said, ...

at one stage in my life I met a man who claimed to have visited Pound at St. Elizabeths. then I met a woman who not only claimed to have visited

I took Tammie. We got there a little early and went to a bar across the street. We got a table. “Now don’t drink too much, Hank. You know how you slur your words and miss your lines whe...

beheaded in the middle of the night scratching my sides I am covered with bites kick my white legs out of the shee…

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

schoolgirls in pantyhose sitting on bus stop benches looking tired at 13 with their raspberry lipstick. it’s hot in the sun

re-reading some of Fante’s The Wine of Youth in bed this mid-afternoon my big cat

it sits outside my window now like and old woman going to market… it sits and watches me, it sweats nevously through wire and fog and dog—bark

drinking 15 dollar champagne— Cordon Rouge—with the hookers. one is named Georgia and she doesn’t like pantyhose: I keep helping her pull up