A simpler time.

Henry Miller is to Brazil as Charles Bukowski is to Thailand.

"We breathe warmly into each others mouth. Close together, America three thousand miles away. I never want to see it again. To have her here in bed with me, breathing on me, her hair in my mouth--I count that something as a miracle. Nothing can happen now till morning..."--Henry Miller



"Your writing," she said to me, "it's so raw. It's like a sledge hammer, and yet it has humor and tenderness..."

"Yeah," I said.

I put my drink down and looked at her. I cupped her chin in my hand and drew her towards me. I gave her the tiniest kiss."