Listening to this and thinking about all the times I played it while hanging out at the Dublin House on West 79th. I'd be there alone doing my Bukowski thing with an endless stream of beers and shots and the rest. I'd be trying to look like a dark writer hoping some hot chick into desperate guys would take me home.
Yeah, it happened twice maybe. But if I close my eyes I can taste the beer and the Marlboro and the all that other good stuff. No, I don't miss the end result. I don't miss where I ended up. But I'd be lying if I didn't say that I sometimes wish I could go back for a night.
And yeah, I went home with a waitress or two in my day too.
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3 comments:
try walking around NYU with Bukowski in your back pocket. "Ohh, Bukkie turnes me on so much. Let's go to your dorm!"
''But I'd be lying if I didn't say that I sometimes wish I could go back for a night.''
What are you doing on Friday? Kidding!
You make me remember...Worked as a bartender my last year as an undergraduate. Bar girls, townie girls, local girls...some came that short walk home with me up the hidden driveway, though the screen door in a drunken haze and into the sack. Indellible memories at 62, something to write about, stories held secret and close for many long years...tales of some mystery, physical confrontation and intrigue, a yarn woven into life's cold winter clothing, to be worn as pleasure and as protection to banish the chill of ever-present sorrows, simple trails of memory to be savored as a cool evening's fire breaks down to the orange glow and gray ashes of early morning. You make me remember.
Miss you J. FMDS
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