starving in a Philadelphia winter
trying to be a writer
I wrote and wrote and drank and drank and
drank
and then stopped writing and concentrated on
the drinking.

it was another
art-form.

if you can’t have any luck with one thing you
try another.

of course, I had been practicing on the
drinking-form
since the age of
15.

and there was much competition
in that field
also.

it was a world full of drunks and writers and
drunk writers.

and so
I became a starving drunk instead of a starving
writer.

the best thing was the instant
result.
and I soon became the biggest and
best drunk in the neighborhood and
maybe the whole
city.

it sure as hell beat sitting around waiting for
those rejection slips from The New Yorker and The
Atlantic Monthly.

of course, I never really considered quitting the
writing game, I just wanted to give it a
ten year rest
figuring if I got famous too early
I wouldn’t have anything left for the stretch run
like I have now, thank
you,

with the drinking still thrown
in.