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Terry underwood's avatar

I love this passage. I remember having read it. Having felt the thunder roll, Bukowski found a wonderful wife and lived a good life, plush carpet after linoleum tiles, all the rest. Sending a letter to Bukowski in 1984 or so arrived at the mailbox of a different guy, different from the guy who worked at a post office. Time changes everything. The poet always makes me laugh in ways nobody else does.

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