I have begun Bukowski’s Factotum in earnest. I am 57 pages in with no end in sight.

Hank Chinaski seems without a plan and traveling all over the country from rooming house to rooming house, from bar to park bench.

It brings me back to my youth and a time faraway.

This is where I an now. In the lap of luxury, reading. I am tired of people generally however I don’t long for solitude the way Hank did.

If I weren’t a parent of a child who depends on me I am fairly certain I might have more in common with Chinaski than I dare to imagine…