I turned to breathe the great fresh air of harbors, exulting my good luck - I pictured myself with grave face pointed seaward through the final Gate of Golden America never to return. I saw shrouds of gray sea dripping from my prow. I never dwelt on the dark farcial furious real life of this roaring working world.
Jack Kerouac
From the short story "slobs of the kitchen sink" in the book, "Lonesome Traveler"
Jack Kerouac
From the short story "slobs of the kitchen sink" in the book, "Lonesome Traveler"
posted by Tyler Burns at 2:55 PM
2 Comments:
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yo yo yo i lurked your page! added a link :)
-hillary
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