a note from Ham on Rye

“'Every time I see you you have a drink in your hand. You can that protecting yourself?'

'It’s the best way I know. Without drink I would have long ago cut my god-damned throat.'

'That’s bullshit.'

'Nothing’s bullshit that works. The Pershing Square preachers have their God. I have the blood of my god!'

I raised my glass and drained it.

'You’re just hiding from reality,' Becker said.

'Why not?'

'You’ll never be a writer if you hide from reality.'

'What are you talking about? That’s what writers do!'”

bukowski