if I suffer at this typewriter think how I’d feel among the lettuce-pickers of Salinas?

That summer, July 1934, they gunned down John Dillinger outside the movie house in Chicago. He never had a chance. The Lady in Red had fingered him. More than a year earlier the banks h...

welcome to my wormy hell. the music grinds off-key. fish eyes watch from the wall. this is where the last happy shot… fired.

at high noon at a small college near the beach sober the sweat running down my arms a spot of sweat on the table

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

the balance is preserved by the sn… the Santa Monica cliffs; the luck is in walking down Wester… and having the girls in a massage parlor holler at you, “Hello, Swe…

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

wha’, what did you expect? a schoo… some more practical lover filling… I’m a fool and no gentleman: I wa… with Crane in pajamas, but suicide… there’s less and less to kill.

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

bet on #6, I try red, I stare at… wonder what Chekhov would do, and… blue plates sit eating the carnage… and look very much like Russians a… my left tit and try to smile like…

I didn’t see Lydia for a couple of days, although I did manage to phone her 6 or 7 times during that period. Then the weekend arrived. Her ex-husband, Gerald, always took the children o...

sleepy now at 4 a.m. hear the siren of a white ambulance,

if I suffer at this typewriter think how I’d feel among the lettuce— pickers of Salinas?

“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...