#1977 #AmericanWriters #LoveIsADogFromHell
strange warmth, hot and cold femal… I make good love, but love isn’t j… sex. most females I’ve known are ambitious, and I like to lie aroun… on large comfortable pillows at 3…
the dead dogs of nowhere bark as you approach another traffic accident. cars one standing on its
in the slow Mexican air I watched… and they cut off his ear, and his… no more terror than a rock. driving back the next day we stopp… and watched the golden red and blu…
The baby was crawling, discovering the world. Marina slept in bed with us at night. There was Marina, Fay, the cat and myself. The cat slept on the bed too. Look here, I thought, I have...
keep remembering the horses under the moon keep remembering feeding the horse… sugar white oblongs of sugar
the phone rang at 1:30 a.m. and it was a man from Denver: “Chinaski, you got a following in Denver...” “yeah?”
the dead can sleep they don’t get up and rage they don’t have a wife. her white face like a flower in a closed
We came in low over Kansas City, the pilot said the temperature was 20 degrees, and there I was in my thin California sports coat and shirt, lightweight pants, summer stockings, and hol...
the rag. she sat there, glooming. I couldn’t do anything with her. it was raining. she got up and left.
my mother knocked on my rooming-ho… and came in looked in the dresser drawer: Henry you don’t have any clean stockings?
stuck in the rain on the freeway,… these are the lucky ones, these ar… dutifully employed, most with thei… as possible as they try not to thi… this is our new civilization: as m…
That night I took Tammie to the harness races. We went upstairs to the second deck and sat down. I brought her a program and she stared at it a while. (At the harness races, past perfor...
I was sitting in my shorts one afternoon a week later. There was a tender little knock on the door. “Just a moment,” I said. I put on a robe and opened the door. “We’re two girls from G...
as I go to the escalator young fellow and a lovely young gi… are ahead of me. her pants, her blouse are skintigh… as we ascend
if I suffer at this typewriter think how I’d feel among the lettuce-pickers of Salinas?