ReBuke

Because all that typing can make you goddamn thirsty, and you can't buy beer with your good looks:

I don't really remember the first time I drank at the Frolic Room, but I definitely remember what happened afterward. When I stepped outside for a smoke, instead of going back inside to drink more, I decided to explore Hollywood Boulevard, and I came across a used bookstore, and with alcohol on my breath, I asked one of the guys working there if they had any Bukowski, since I didn't see any on the shelves.

He was a heavyset guy, and he paused from putting prices on the inside of the books with a pencil, and he frowned, like somebody had just mentioned his ex-wife's name to him, and shook his head no and went back to pricing books.

When I asked what the deal was with that, he, irritated now, said, "That asshole used to get drunk at that bar down the street, and whenever he ran out of money, he'd come inside here and harass the customers, have them give him money if he signed his own book."

At the time, I thought that was the coolest thing in world, and I still do, and although that bookstore down the street is no longer there, I still go to that bar every now and then. I have many favorites in town, but it's a bar that always has a good mix of characters. The jukebox is one of the better ones in town, and behind the bar, next to two American flags, is a framed portrait of one of the greatest Americans to live in Los Angeles, Charles Bukowski.