Absolutely worst novel I ever read. Block may write a good confidence man, but when it comes to the seedy life of prostitutes, beatniks, and bums, he doesn't have anything to offer. Willeford and Goodis are much closer to Bukowski (or Selby Jr.) in that regard, but Block failed miserably.
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I thought this would have a better plot and at least some redeeming features in the characters, but no. It's just a cheap trashy bunch of words submitted to make money.
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