I wasn't sleeping on the streets at night. Of course, there were a lot of good people sleeping in the streets. They weren't fools, they just didn't fit into the needed machinery of the moment. And those needs kept altering.

It’s nice enough to make a man weep, but I don’t weep, do you?

Only the boring get bored

To experience real agony is something hard to write about, impossible to understand while it grips you; you're frightened out of your wits, can’t sit still, move, or even go decently insane.

The hangover was brutal but he didn't mind. It told him he had been somewhere else, someplace good.

It was like a church in there as only the truly lost sit in bars on Tuesday mornings at 8:00 a.m.

Death is nothing, brother, it's life that's hard