Winans knew Bukowski for over 20 years, here he recalls their up and down friendship, previously unreported episodes from Bukowski''s life...

Excerpt... I remember another time in San Francisco. Bukowski and I spent a short time together. Bukowski wanted to visit North Beach, but didn''t want to drink at the bars, afraid that he would be forced to discuss poetry with his many well wishers and certain poets that he didn''t like and was afraid he might might encounter. Bukowski wanted to save his drinking for later that night when he was scheduled to give a reading. I showed him where the old Beat bars had once been, and the few bars that had survived the Beat generation. On the way back down Grant Avenue, we passed the Cafe Trieste, a popular North Beach coffee house and gathering place for the literary crowd and the pretentious elite. Bukowski stopped outside the Cafe Trieste and stared at the crowd sitting at the intimately close tables. Then, moving to the front entrance, he peered inside and said in a semi thundering voice, Look at all these people waiting for something to happen, only it never will. Bukowski''s remark was met with stunned silence, as a good number of the patrons looked up, immediately recognizing him. Bukowski hurried away without waiting for me. I heard one of the patrons, a skinny woman with glasses, make an insensitive remark. God, did you see all that acne and what a drinkers nose. Hell be dead before you know it. Her remark was met with a smattering of laughter, as she continued drinking her espresso. She was wrong. The scars weren''t from acne but childhood boils, and Bukowski would live a relatively full life for someone who abused his body as much as he did. I managed to catch up with Bukowski and drove him across town where he was staying at a friends pad. In the car, he talked about his dislike for the kind of people who hung out at places like the Cafe Trieste. He described them as soft boiled egg and parsley eaters. Bukowski talked about getting used to brawls as a teenager, having to defend himself because of his pock faced looks. He lived in the slum streets of Los Angeles where survival meant being able to take care of yourself. Bukowski was quoted as saying, The trouble is that I liked it. Liked the impact of knuckles against teeth, of feeling the terrific lightning that breaks in your brain when somebody lands a clean one and you have to try to shake loose and come back and nail him before he finishes you off. He confessed, however, that he was too old for that kind of life anymore.