Charles Bukowski Fiction Collection

I drank for the next week. I drank night and day and wrote 25 or 30 mournful poems about lost love.

I was in love again, I was in trouble….

“No, I got lost out of ignorance and fear. I am not a complete person—I’m a stunted city person. I am more or less a failed drizzling shit with absolutely nothing to offer.”
“Christ,” she said, “don’t you think I know that?”