I have S**t Stains In My Underwear Too
by Charles Bukowski

I hear them outside:

"does he always type this

late?"

"no, it's very unusual."

"he shouldn't type this

late."

"he hardly ever does."

"does he drink?"

"I think he does."

"he went to the mailbox in

his underwear yesterday."

"I saw him too."

"he doesn't have any friends."

"he's old."

"he shouldn't type this late."



the go inside and it begins

to rain as

3 gun shots sound half a block

away and

one of the skyscrapers in

downtown L.A. begins

burning

25 foot flames licking toward

doom.