The first words I said that day were, "Danny, I don't want to die a virgin anymore," to which he said, without so much as turning over, "Time enough, Lassie, time enough," and I had to wonder what I was still doing there, wearing boys' underpants, and waiting to be introduced.
This is a composite of tales, of forty days and forty nights in that pretty-pretty gray-white city. Tales of glowing platters of transcendental chow yuk, of cadged mild euphorics, of wanton quests with the unslakable Andrei, full-throttle power dives into the quagmire of imagination, and the unsurpassed sensation of sedentary free flight. We wondered what would happen if you held a compass too close to your third eye. To us, these were still pioneering days, and navigation was for ninnies. We speculated on how far you could take the given
arly-adolescent period, Ebb Tide, Stranger in Paradise, Volare Probably topped my private charts.This was Mid-America, remember;little Freedom to choose,definitely no Alan Freed to guide one.But to get back to your Question, burning like a plutonium Ingot in the pants of an action hero, Where were the girls?Dipping Volare
Eruptions of starlight, joy and gladness As, at 10:30 p.m. on Shattuck, the New World dawns with shouts of "Yes we can!" From young persons thronging the clogged street. The street people, however, are just trying To get some sleep. I infer this from the body- Bundles I see huddled in every alcove. But why, In the rapture of intoxicated victory I glimpse around me, do I insist on this Dissonant note? "A complete curmudgeon," Gentle Dorothy once called me, in Exasperation, accurately, I cannot deny. Aye, O Friend! I fear there are What are lately called Depression Issues At work here. How tiresome, really.
