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this kind of thing is not my forte - but here's a review of the last book i read.
John Fante - Ask the Dust
Semi/pseudo-autobiographical account of the writer Arturo Bandini trying to make it in LA. His trials and tribulations trying to get laid and find something to eat smack heavily of Orwell’s down and out in Paris and London, published six years before. In turn Fante is ripped off heavily by Bukowski, who, to his credit, admits as much in the introduction. Ask the Dust is a good read, but it definitely goes down what feels like a well trodden path. The ending is over-dramatic and unrealistic, detracting from the rawness of the body of the book, spoiling it.
100.
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I think if kissing someone could make them pregnant
the last person I kissed would have had their kid by now...
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