My dear, Find what you love and let it kill you. Let it drain you of your all. Let it cling onto your back and weigh you down into eventual nothingness. Let it kill you and let it devour your remains. For all things will kill you, both slowly and fastly, but it’s much better to be killed by a lover. ~ Falsely yours

This play was a one-off performance. I've always had the geographical and spiritual feeling of being here. He was then 49 years old.

In 1986 Time called Bukowski a "laureate of American lowlife". His writing was influenced by the social cultural and economic ambience of his home city of Los Angeles. [is that] he combines the confessional poet's promise of intimacy with the larger-than-life aplomb of a pulp-fiction hero.