Or so he would think ... I heard his voice through a degenerate video-poker drunk who was knocking back Black Russians while the bartender snuck breadsticks on a butter pat, "I've never seen anyone eat chicken wings with a knife and fork," he said as he whispered "f--kin yuppie" under his breath and rather than point out that I was eating boneless tenders smothered in hydrochloric acid, I snarled at the decrepit, toothless son-of-a-bitch and said, "If you live long enough, you'll see a lot of things."
He left.
Bukowski would have taken a swing. And, after he was bloodied, he'd go home and call his woman a c--t.
He left.
Bukowski would have taken a swing. And, after he was bloodied, he'd go home and call his woman a c--t.