I'm sure gonna get you tonight — aint gonna be like it used to be with you — I'm gonna find out about you at… — Jack Kerouac

She laughed in his face, he slammed the door shut, put out lights, drove her home, drove the car back skittering crazily in the slush, sick, cursing.

Fluting spring was racing through the corridors and ritual alleys of my sacred brain in holy life and making me wake and resurge to the business of being and becoming a man.

I saw her, standing in the crowd, forlorn, dissatisfied, dark, unpleasantly strange.