Long walks at night-- that's what good for the soul: peeking into windows watching tired housewives trying to fight off their beer-maddened husbands.   By Charles Bukowski

Sundays too my father got up earlyAnd put his clothes on in the blueback cold,then with cracked hands that achedfrom labor in the weekday weather madebanked fires blaze. No one ever thanked him.I'd wa