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Kindle Notes & Highlights
“There once was a guy named McSweeney, who spilled some gin on his weenie. Just to be couth he added vermouth, then slipped his girl a martini.”
Her second thought was of a weak swimmer, caught in a retreating tide, pulled farther and farther from shore, not understanding how much trouble she was in until she began to scream and discovered no one on the beach could hear her.
Everything will have moved, Cal, good buddy. The grass flows and you flow too. Think of it as becoming one with nature, bro.
Directions melted in the tall grass, and time melted as well: a Dalí world with Kansas stereo.
