No plot, just vibes. The first 2/3 of the book are slow and incredibly repetitive. Henry Chinaski is a hatable narrator and his voracious appetite for increasingly problematic lovers gets a little old. If it weren’t for the last 1/3 of the book (where Chinaski starts doing some self-reflection), I would’ve given this book 2 stars. Still, I wouldn’t recommend this to anyone apart from, say, a fellow novelist looking to explore an interesting style of writing.