|I'm pretty sure this is how Charles Bukowski saw the world.|
|Does anyone else smell old gym socks? I do.|
|I'm sure the young lady is posing but she does look as though|
she fell out of the balcony.
|Even Huston's women look tough enough to kick my ass.|
|I don't know what she's doing and frankly I don't care.|
|Guy pulling a rope or wire. Whichever it is, he's doing a fine job.|
|Ugh! Manual labor.|
|A profile of pugilism ruined by the painter's nephew running into frame. I hate that kid.|
|Ack! More manual labor. I need a fresh can of Dr. Pepper but I'm too lazy to go to the kitchen.|
|Either the painter had a stroke while painting this or the boxer hits hard enough to unravel his gloves.|
|Thank God the working dudes are going home. They were making me feel guilty. Hmmm. My|
Dr. Pepper is still empty. I should get off my lazy butt and buy one of those little refrigerators I can
tuck under my desk.
|My favorite of the lot. I'm sure the painter will be thrilled to hear the news.|
|Blech! This sport totally lacks in personal space. I only let my wife get this close once a year on my|
|Hey! Come on, guy. I'm trying to run a family place here. Cover that thing|
up, would you? Ach! Now my new Dr. Pepper tastes all funny.