I'll go to the south of Sicily in the winter, and paint memories of Arles โ I'll buy a piano and Mozart me that โ I'll write long sad tales about people in the legend of my life โ This part is my part of the movie, let's hear yours
Jack KerouacThe air was so sweet in New Orleans it seemed to come in soft bandannas; and you could smell the river and really smell the people, and mud, and molasses, and every kind of tropical exhalation, with your nose suddenly removed from the dry ices of a Northern winter.
Jack Kerouac