Charles Bukowski: he knows us all
he knows us all hell crawls through the window without a sound enters my room takes off his hat and sits down on the couch across from me. I laugh. then my lamp drops off the table, I catch it just before it hits the floor, and in doing so, I spill my beer. "oh shit!" I say; when I look up again the son-of-a-bitch is gone– off looking for you, my friend?