Just had to say a Happy Birthday to one of my favorite writers. It was Kerouac's books that helped me regain some of the naive optimism in the
possibilities of life, and of life on the road when I needed it most. His writings were, subconsciously I think, part of why I moved to North Beach in
San Francisco. I'd get drunk at Vesuvios during the day, hang out at City Lights, then go out with some writer friends at night to some readings,
then back to North Beach, to help an Italian girl I'd never met find her bicycle. Then all the late nights/early mornings walking back from some
random house or party while the sun is coming up over the city and the fog rolling in. A lot of those memories I'll have forever, and I owe a lot of
it to the writings of Kerouac and the effect they had on me. I'm no longer afraid to just walk off with a backpack, and know I'll be alright.
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