Three a.m. drunks, all over America, were staring at the walls, having finally given it up. You didn’t have to be a drunk to get hurt; but you could get hurt and become a drunk.
Thursday night, you became the drunk, you were out there alone in a cheap rented room, and no matter how many times you’d been out there before, it was no help, it was even worse because you had got to thinking you wouldn’t have to face it again. All you could do was light another cigarette, pour another drink, check the peeling walls for lips and eyes.
What men and women did to each other was beyond comprehension.
— “Long Distance Drunk” from Hot Water Music, by Charles Bukowski. (via gjoska)