Bukowski is good to read

Bukowski is good to read when you’re sitting in a diner at three in the morning and the waitress looks as tired as I feel and the eggs are as cold as the well armored goth-decked emo girl across the aisle with enough spikes and plating to fend off a small herd of armadillos and the babe two booths over with the flannel New York Yankee pajama bottoms and the Tweety Bird tattoo on her breast is complaining about how hot she feels and I think then why the fuck are you wearing flannel? and there’s a loud stupid man stupidly spouting off about stupid people doing stupid things and I look at the beautiful woman sitting next to him and think she must be supremely stupid to be voluntarily hanging out with this idiot then muffin man walks in with bagel-boy and proceeds to order a bran muffin explicitly dictating in painful detail how it must be sliced perfectly in half vertically, buttered then toasted so the butter seeps into his inner carbo crannies while the top gets crispy the nirvana of this guy’s day revolves around how his roughage is pampered in this god forsaken place where Bukowski puts this all into perspective

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