The first full book of Bukowski's poetry that I read. I thought it was incredible and there is a definite quality of "realness" to all his work. I remember I had one of my first really nice apartments on my own when I was reading this. It was summertime and I had a third-story enclosed porch which was all windows. I had made the porch into a small jungle with tons of plants and I had purchased a beautiful wicker chair to read in. On the ledge by the windows I started to put my bottles of wine as I emptied them and I emptied quite a few while reading from this book. One time I was so intoxicated, I spilled red wine all over the cover and it seeped into some of the pages. The irony was delicious and so was the book. Bukowski is timeless and a great voice. ( )