Old habits can be hard to break. I am trying to quit coffee. Last night I dreamed I was drinking coffee in a coffeehouse in North Beach with Jack Kerouac. We had just come from the alley named for him by City Lights. Jack was typing on his manual typewriter as we talked. Dean was sitting there also, though he didn't say a word. Jack was saying something as he typed about how "he had nothing to offer anybody except my own confusion" when Truman Capote stuck his head in the door and asked in a big husky voice (go figure) "would you boys like to go down the street for a drink?" He saw Jack typing and laughed so loud the building shook. "Go away, Truman," said Jack. Truman was still laughing as he walked away. Jack looks at me and says, "Happiness is in realizing that it is all a giant strange dream."
Coffee, anyone?
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