Book: how I became dirty old man
(This is from my upcoming book “How I Became a Dirty Old Man (like Bukowski)”) Finally, my daughter came back and picked up that demon mutt. Sparky wagged his tail and leapt into her arms like an angel, as if he hadn’t spent three days turning my flat into a war crime scene. She kissed … Read more
My expectations weren’t high. They never are, these days. But still, I had that tiny flicker of hope, the same pathetic flame that keeps moths frying themselves on lightbulbs. I shaved, splashed on some aftershave that expired sometime during the Obama administration, and combed my hair in a way I imagined said: distinguished gentleman rather … Read more
Chapter One: The Note on the Fridge Every memoir starts with a tragedy. Some start with war, some with famine, some with fathers who were too drunk to remember their children’s birthdays. Mine started with a Post-it note stuck on the fridge. “I’m leaving.” That’s all it said. Two words. My wife, partner of twenty … Read more
