some want me to go on writing about whores
and puking.

others say that type of thing disgusts
them.

well, I don’t miss the
whores

although now and then one or another makes an
attempt to locate
me.

I don’t know if they miss all the booze and
the bit of money I gave them

or if they are enthralled at the way
I’ve immortalized them in
literature.

anyhow, they must now make do with
whatever men
they are able to scrounge
up.

—those poor darlings had no
idea…

and neither did I
that those ugly roaring nights
would be fodder

such as even
Dostoevski
would not shy away
from.