A semi autobiographical account, we follow Henry, a man in his mid 30s who needs a job and joins the Postal Office only to absolutely hate it. Yet despite this, he is only one of a handful of 200 employees that last 11 years. We follow his monotonous routine of filing letters, being micro managed and taking the mail to unhappy and crazy neighbors. His personal life is also a mess with random hook ups, breaks ups and deaths.

What makes this book so good isn't the prose; it's blatant and straight forward. It's not the plot as their isn't really one. It's just how raw it is. Henry is both sympathetic and pathetic. I relate so much to him when he complains about bureaucracy and having to fake being interested in your job to your employer. He also seems hopeless for not planning a way out. But that's sort of the thing about this book, there are people who put up with the grind and die. It's horrifying and funny and brutally hoenst.

Edit: wow didn't realize bukowski was such a hit with people. Nice.