He listened to the train roll through town; thinking of Kerouac’s adventures. The stories of Sal Paradise and Dean Moriarty cooked up and running through his veins. Catching trains, busses, hitchhiking, and driving back and forth ‘cross America while bop jazz cleansed the soul. Living on apple pie and ice cream. This is the America he dreamed of.
A knapsack and a few books; Oh Whitman, Thoreau, Oh Ginsburg, Oh Corso; reading and leaving sins behind, a sleep of purity.
He had this need to go, go,go, and not be left behind by his ideas, but, to have them in front, chasing dreams, keeping our youth, loving the Buddha, this Zen that is life.
And, like that the train rolled out of town. And, so did his dreams. No more Paradise, nor Dean Moriarty. No more thoughts of chasing girls till the wee hours in San Francisco, Chicago, New York, Denver. These experiences he never had. Only read about them. It was time to start living life.