Long walks at night—
that's what good for the soul:
peeking into windows
watching tired housewives
trying to fight off
their beer-maddened husbands.
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This is why Bukowski touches people. He plays on our madness; our fascination with the grit on the tiles in the subway bathroom, and the man beating his wife while comfortably we perch in a tree and watch; grateful the fists aren't hitting us.




