Ya got cigarettes?” she asks. “Yes,” I say,“I got cigarettes.” “Matches?” she asks.“Enough to burn Rome.” “Whiskey?”“Enough whiskey for a Mississippi River of pain.” “You drunk?” “Not yet.
Charles Bukowski
cigarettes, drinking, drowning-one-s-sorrows, drowning-sorrows, pain, poem, poetry, smoking, through-the-streets-of-anywhere, whiskey