This is the story of America. Everybody's doing what they think they're supposed to do. - Jack Kerouac

It seemed like a matter of minutes when we began rolling in the foothills before Oakland and suddenly reached a height and saw stretched out ahead of us the fabulous white city of San Francisco on her eleven mystic hills with the blue Pacific and its advancing wall of potato-patch fog beyond, and smoke and goldenness in the late afternoon of time.

We tiptoed around each other like heartbreaking new friends.

Some of my most neurotically fierce bitterness is the result of realizing how untrue people have become.