Charles Bukowski. Note the old goat (№ 314785)

Sit with a beer and typing, say, Friday or Saturday, at least on Sunday - and on Wednesday, your writings are already around the city. I got letters from people who never read poetry - not mine, nor any other, - and "Notes" mastered. And how many people were bursting to my door in droves, damn it, and was explaining how to "notes of an old goat" they give birth. A tramp came and brought with him a Gypsy wife and I, we spent half the night drinking and talking, talking shit every. The operator with the long-distance telephone line sent me money that I leaned on beer and eat properly. I was dealing with a lunatic who called himself king Arthur, and lived on vine street in Hollywood. He wanted to help me to write my column. Came to me and doctor: "I read your column and think you'll be able to help you. Once I was a psychiatrist". Had to send it away.