BINO
If Bukowski were in New Orleans, I mean if I were Bukowski in New Orleans, I mean if at this time while I am in New Orleans I were to be Charles Bukowski, I think that I/he would most certainly be drunk. Me, I'm standing on a street corner at 5PM local time watching the end of the work-a-day traffic. Its finally cooled off enough to not be staggeringly humid and hot. The streets, mostly "one ways", are bumper to bumper. The sidewalks full too. Not LA or NY bumper to bumper, less sidewalk traffic than NY and
WAY more than LA, but bumper to bumper for these folks.

Here for business. Work that is meaningless to me but that I am good at.
I look at peoples faces, their clothes and cars and shoes. I see people who look smart, dumb, attractive and ugly. I see people that look so full of life that it is just spilling out of them. I see people so devoid of any signs of life that they are likely to be zombies.
I look at all this from the corner, thinking about Bukowski.
Thinking about the gray place between the living and the walking dead. About how that gray space is just a thread between hope and giving up, between creativity and follow the leader, between not needing a reason and having no reasons at all.
I'd like to propose a toast,"TO ALL MY FRIENDS!"