Narrator wakes up hungover. Narrator starts drinking. Narrator writes something brilliant. Narrator finds someone to fuck. Narrator finds someone to fight. Narrator drinks more. Narrator passes out. Love him or hate him, the late Charles Bukowski rarely strayed from this predictable pattern in most of his short stories and novels, which nearly all mirrored his life. One would think that any woman involved with Bukowski for five years off and on (as if there were any other way) would want his head, at least figuratively. Linda King has it literally — or, to be exact, a sculpture of it, one that she made. This version of Bukowski's bust is... More >>>