JACK KEROUAC- The chicken was mad baby, mad for the hot tar tug on his feet and mad for the waving wheat weed cover on the other side and mad to FEEL the blast roman-candle freedom of crossing that 'ol road and getting further down that pathway to the righteous black jazz blown heart of this great country and like what 'Ol Bull Lee calls the "grey dawning of his soul"!!!!

Clifton