--------------------- [excerpt from Chronicles, by Bob Dylan] ---------------- I hadn't come in on a freight train at all.
What I did was come across the country from the Midwest in a four-door sedan, '57 Impala - straight out of Chicago clearing the hell out of there - racing all the way through the smoky towns, winding roads, green fields covered with snow, onward, eastbound through the state lines, Ohio, Indiana, Pennsylvania, a twenty-four-hour ride, dozing most of the way in the backseat, making small talk.
My mind fixed on hidden interests . . . eventually riding over the George Washington Bridge.
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