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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=354700" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Young in New Orleans</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">starving there, sitting around the bars,<br>and at night walking the streets for<br>hours,<br>the moonlight always seemed fake<br>to me, maybe it was,<br>and in the French Quarter I watched<br>the horses and buggies going by,<br>everybody sitting high in the open<br>carriages, the black driver, and in<br>back the man and the woman,<br>usually young and always white.<br>and I was always white.<br>and hardly charmed by the <br>world.<br>New Orleans was a place to<br>hide.<br>I could piss away my life,<br>unmolested.<br>except for the rats.<br>the rats in my dark small room<br>very much resented sharing it<br>with me.<br>they were large and fearless<br>and stared at me with eyes<br>that spoke <br>an unblinking<br>death.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">women were beyond me.<br>they saw something<br>depraved.<br>there was one waitress<br>a little older than<br>I, she rather smiled,<br>lingered when she<br>brought my<br>coffee.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">that was plenty for <br>me, that was<br>enough.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">there was something about<br>that city, though<br>it didn't let me feel guilty<br>that I had no feeling for the<br>things so many others<br>needed.<br>it let me alone.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">sitting up in my bed<br>the llights out,<br>hearing the outside<br>sounds,<br>lifting my cheap<br>bottle of wine,<br>letting the warmth of<br>the grape<br>enter<br>me<br>as I heard the rats <br>moving about the<br>room,<br>I preferred them<br>to<br>humans.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">being lost,<br>being crazy maybe<br>is not so bad<br>if you can be<br>that way<br>undisturbed.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">New Orleans gave me<br>that.<br>nobody ever called<br>my name.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">no telephone,<br>no car,<br>no job,<br>no<br>anything.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">me and the <br>rats<br>and my youth,<br>one time,<br>that time<br>I knew<br>even through the<br>nothingness,<br>it was a <br>celebration<br>of something not to<br>do<br>but only<br>know.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Charles+Bukowski">Charles Bukowski</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=354700" data-title="Young in New Orleans de Charles Bukowski" data-description="starving there, sitting around the bars,
and at night walking the streets for
hours,
the moonlight always seemed fake
to me, maybe it was,
and in the French Quarter I watched
the horses and buggies going by,
everybody sitting high in the open
carr..."></div>
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