your letters got sadder. your lovers betrayed you. kid, I wrote back, all lovers betray. it didn't help. you said you had a crying bench and it was by a bridge and the bridge was over the river and you sat on the crying bench every night and wept for the lovers who had hurt and forgotten you.
Charles Bukowskifrom the beginning, through the middle years and up to the end: too bad, too bad, too bad.
Charles Bukowski