Hot Water Music

Camus wrote like a man who had just finished a large dinner of steak and french fries, salad, and had topped it with a bottle of good French wine. Humanity may have been suffering but not him. A wise man, perhaps, but Henry preferred somebody who screamed when they burned

As I ran around to the other side to get in I heard a shout and then a splash. It was raining, and raining hard. I ran back around and Bernard had managed to fall and wedge himself in the gutter between the car and the curbing. The water swept around him, he was sitting up, the water rushed over him, ran down through his pants, lapped against his sides, the crutches floating sluggishly in his lap.

What is your advice to young writers?”
“Drink, fuck and smoke plenty of cigarettes.”
“What is your advice to older writers?”

He dropped the book to the floor and tried to sleep. Sleep was always difficult. If he could sleep three hours in 24 he was satisfied. Well, he thought, the walls are still here, give a man four walls and he had a chance. Out on the streets, nothing could be done.
The doorbell rang. “Hank!” somebody screamed. “Hey, Hank!”
What the shit? he thought. Now what?
“Yeah?” he asked, lying there in his shorts.
“Hey! What are you doing?”
“Wait a minute…”
He got up, picked up his shirt and pants and walked into the front room.
“What are you doing?”
“Getting dressed…”
“Getting dressed?”
“Yeah.”

m tired of being great. I’m tired of waiting to die. Let’s go out

I’m tired of being great. I’m tired of waiting to die. Let’s go out

LESS DELICATE THAN THE LOCUST

Not many people in the world had very much money but the less money they had the better they seemed to live. Sleep, clean sheets, food, drink and hemorrhoid ointment were their only needs. And they always left their doors a bit open.