The fact that I knew Bukowski wasn’t enough. I had to know him.
You know, the way that girl knew him. Not sexually, we’re

talking through text, but yeah it is intimate. A straight female can
feel this connection (anyone can feel it) where she knows the guy,

this misogynist from another time, an older one. And because of this
she gets a little misanthropic, and she gets a little mistrusting, flaky,

a little heart-breaky. Then I’m at where I am now, Bukowski is dead,
and she’s moving on to Strindberg.

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