Ham On Rye - Charles Bukowski

Not sure what to write, how to express it. This is what the word "masterpiece" was invented for, I think. It speaks to me like few books ever have. The misanthropy, the disinterest and apathy, uncertainty about the future, everything about Hank Chinaski is me at my worst. He's me if I let that side take over. And it speaks in such a unique voice. Every sentence and word is just perfect and alive and heavy with meaning. I'll die happy if I ever write something half as good as this.