I had a somewhat Bukowskian experience of my own recently, when I arrived at work just after a woman had been beaten, raped, and thrown from a fifth-story window at the Regent Hotel, just across the alley from my office. I didn’t hear the thud, but I did arrive in time to see the many various vehicles with the flashing, multi-coloured lights, and to listen to her cousin wailing in grief for three-quarters of an hour before Victims’ Services calmed her down.
And so, with that intro, welcome to our Bukowskian interlude:
Yeah, that’s about what it felt like.
OMG! How horrid.
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Thanks. Her cousin was so distraught she was wailing and screaming forever, wandering into the road and being pulled back by strangers she couldn’t even see, she was so crazed with grief. And it was done over a drug debt, to “teach customers a lesson” because the next day was Welfare Wednesday and she would have had the money to pay her bill then.
I’m still not over it, and all I did was hear the aftermath. And get interviewed by the police twice.