Bukowski
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Morning crashed in like a drunk stumbling through my door—too damn soon. I squeezed my eyes shut, faking sleep, hoping the dark would swallow me back. Didn’t work. My head flickered with the big shit—the kind that jolts you awake at 3 a.m., all jagged edges and no mercy. I told myself it was just
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“If you’re going to give me something, make it a damn good bottle of whiskey and let’s not talk about it.” -Charles Bukowski It begins with an idea. The idea festers, grows. The perfect gift, the one that will make them see you differently, better, deeper. You research. You wander through stores, click through
BB Grey--musings 