“I was in the rear, stuck in with the Rumanian bread, liverwurst, beer, soft drinks; wearing a green necktie, first necktie since the death of my father a decade ago. Now I was to be best man at a Zen wedding. Hollis driving 85 m.p.h., Roy’s four-foot beard flowing into my face. It was my ‘62 Comet, only I couldn’t drive—no insurance, two drunk-driving raps, and already getting drunk. Hollis and Roy had lived unmarried for three years, Hollis supporting Roy. I sat in the back and sucked at my beer. Roy was explaining Hollis’ family to me one by one. Roy was better with the intellectual shit. Or the tongue. The walls of their place were covered with these many photos of guys bending into the muff and chewing …”

— Charles Bukowski, “The Great Zen Wedding,” Tales of Ordinary Madness, 1983