The sky today is oddly blue, the air unseasonably warm for late October. The leaves outside our big glass panes are amber and gold, but the sun is shining through them. I soak up as much of it as I can. Soon the storms will come, and I will need the memory of sunshine on my face to get through December.
I viewed Bukowski as only doing a limited shtick -- he rarely came into the office himself, but I knew all about him because my friend Judy Lewellen, the city editor, used to go pick up the column. I guess I hadn't understood how popular Bukowski was getting until I was confronted by a book display in London.