#1977 #AmericanWriters #LoveIsADogFromHell
what you see is what you see: madhouses are rarely on display. that we still walk about and scratch ourselves and light
she bent over the side of the bed and opened the portfolio along the side of the wall. we were drinking. she said, “you promised me these
On the elevator up, I was the only white man there. It seemed strange. They talked about the riots, not looking at me. “Jesus,” said a coal black guy, "it’s really something. These guys...
16 years old during the depression I’d come home drunk and all my clothing— shorts, shirts, stockings—
he sits all day at the bus stop at Sunset and Western his sleeping bag beside him. he’s dirty. nobody bothers him.
I was standing in line at the bank… when the old fellow in front of me dropped his glasses (luckily, with… case) and as he bent over
the best often die by their own ha… just to get away, and those left behind can never quite understand why anybody
I get too many phone calls. they seek the creature out. they shouldn’t.
I think of automobiles parked in a parking lot when I think of myself dead I think of frying pans when I think of myself dead
I found a room on Temple Street in the Filipino district. It was $3.50 a week, upstairs on the second floor. I paid the landlady—a middle-aged blond—a week’s rent. The toilet and tub we...
I’ve watched this city burn twice in my lifetime and the most notable event was the reaction of the politicians in the
a girlfriend came in built me a bed scrubbed and waxed the kitchen flo… scrubbed the walls vacuumed
good weather is like good women— it doesn’t always happen and when it does
if I suffer at this typewriter think how I’d feel among the lettuce— pickers of Salinas?
dying for a beer dying for and of life on a windy afternoon in Hollywood listening to symphony music from m… on the floor.