One night my father took me on his milk route. There were no longer any horsedrawn wagons. The milk trucks now had engines. After loading up at the milk company we drove off on his rout...

he talked about Steinbeck and Tho… wrote like a cross between the two… and I lived in a hotel on Figuero… close to the bars and he lived further uptown in a s…

in the winter walking on my ceiling my eyes the size of street… I have 4 feet like a mouse but wash my own underwear—bearded and hungover and a hard-on and no lawy…

my grandfather was a tall German with a strange smell on his breath… he stood very straight in front of his small house and his wife hated him

well, first Mae West died and then George Raft, and Eddie G. Robinson’s been gone long time,

Hugo Wolf went mad while eating a… and writing his 253rd song; it was… April and the worms came out of th… humming Tannhäuser, and he spilled… with his ink, and his blood fell o…

boy, don’t come around here tellin… can’t cut it, that they’re pitching you low and insid… they are conspiring against you, that all you want is a chance but…

when I was in grammar school my parents were poor and in my lunch bag there was only a peanut butter sandwich.

they say that nothing is wasted: either that or it all is.

the men phone and ask me that. are you really Charles Bukowski the writer? they ask. I’m a sometimes writer, I say, most often I don’t do anything.

she was in her orange Volks waitin… as I walked up the street with 2 six packs and a pint of sco… and she jumped out and began grabbing the beerbottles…

used to drive those trucks so hard and for so long that my right foot would go dead from pushing down on the accelerator.

I went with two ladies down to Venice to look for antique furniture. I parked in back of the store and went in with them.