Bukowsky Stories

Time is passing. Days are fading, nights are awakening. People never stop. Like them, thoughts never stop. I walk through the city, but ideas of great old philosophers haunt me, the kind of philosophers I am not. Nonetheless, I constantly think about that peculiar city and even more peculiar human race. It never leaves me alone. It fucking never leaves me alone. *Note: All of it is originally written in Croatian so please ignore any mistakes in the translation.

Sua.