Whither goest thou, America, in thy shiny car in the night?

This was really the way my whole road experience began, and the things that were to come are too fantastic not to tell.

Somewhere along the line, the pearl would be handed to me.

As I grew older I became a drunk. Why? Because I like ecstasy of the mind.

She brooded and bit her rich lips: my soul began its first sink into her, deep, heady, lost; like drowning in a witches' brew, Keltic, sorcerous, starlike.

I'd sleep and forget it; I had my own life, my own sad and ragged life forever.

And the story of love is a long sad tale ending in graves.