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eBook Category: Dark Fantasy Pushcart Prize Winner
eBook Description: He abandoned the wild times and ideals of his youth for a safer and saner life. Yet his past proved more dogged than he suspected. It refused to abandon him.

eBook Publisher: Fictionwise.com, Published: Gallimaufry 5, 1975
Fictionwise Release Date: July 2002

16 Reader Ratings: Great Good OK Poor

Available eBook Formats [MultiFormat - What's this?]: Adobe Acrobat (PDF) [42 KB], eReader (PDB) [21 KB], Palm Doc (PDB) [7 KB], Rocket/REB1100 (RB) [7 KB], Microsoft Reader (LIT) [60 KB] - PocketPC 1.0+ Compatible, Franklin eBookMan (FUB) [78 KB], hiebook (KML) [45 KB], Sony Reader (LRF) [35 KB], iSilo (PDB) [6 KB], Mobipocket (PRC) [8 KB], Kindle Compatible (MOBI) [35 KB], OEBFF Format (IMP) [13 KB]
Words: 1900
Reading time: 5-7 min.
Microsoft Reader (LIT) Format: Printing DISABLED, Read-Aloud ENABLED
Adobe Acrobat (PDF) Format:  Printing DISABLED, Read-Aloud DISABLED
All Other formats: Printing DISABLED, Read-aloud DISABLED

Rolling, turning, spitting out words, going up and down the coast, getting drunk, vomiting in bus stations, dying train stations, thumb aching in cold highway wind, staying with friends, believing, imbibing the sacrament, sitting in the circles in the cities passing the burning stick, warm skies blending to gray drizzle matting his unkempt hair against frayed denim collar, cracked leather collar, dirty and knotted fur collar, staying with friends, finding another woman, sitting in the circles in the country up all night, jangling reds three for a dollar, going inland, up and down the central valley, talking, talking, spitting out words, leaving nothing unsaid, double-said, triple-said, losing the sense of things, standing on the beach at Sur and letting his mind unzippered turn the white wave froth to Chinese dragons on a 14th century scroll, dodging the draft and beating it, going down in the files of national security as a c.o. addict with a trick knee and too much sugar in his urine, dropping out of school for good, standing alone in a street outside a bar or an all-night coffee shop or the 16th Avenue laundromat where he'd caught a few hours of sleep beneath the droning dryers, B-52s in his dreams, marching for the napalmed dead, marching for something else and something again and for the faces on the street, looking for Billie or Marilyn or Rider, listening to the radio, cursing the powers that be, making the connections, watching the records stack and fall, lighting the incense a red pin-star dance in the blackness of the windowless basement bedroom, reading the books of illumination, forgetting the words, talking, saying it again, losing the friends gone straight, burnt out, spitting the words like a plasmic stream, vomiting the music, imbibing the sacrament bastardized with killing chemicals, the words laid down to the beast, bum-tripping once more, shooting the poisons for a sense of flavor, watching the blood back up the needle, feeding his ego, losing the friends gone sour and scared, finding others less certain, more confused, watching the records fall, breaking the penultimate capsule with his teeth and discovering the soul of bitterness within...