Arriving in Paris in the morning.
AND ALL NIGHT ALONG, ALONE IN AN OLD PASSENGER coach, Oh Anna Karenina, O Myshkin, O Rogozhin, I ride back St. Brieuc, Rennes, got my brandy, and there’s Chartres at dawn—
Arriving in Paris in the morning.
By this time, from the cold of Bretagne, I got big flannel shirt on now, with scarf inside collar, no shave, pack silly hat away into suitcase, close it again with teeth and now, with my Air France return trip ticket to Tampa Florida I’se ready as the fattest ribs in old Winn Dixie, dearest God.
