In the winding mountains of Tennessee with him in my hands, I listen on the radio of some woman droning on about the American craving to return to the spirit of exploration. The spirit of the Road. And baby, ain’t that the truth. “…I suddenly saw the whole country like an oyster for us to open; and the pearl was there, the pearl was there.”
“‘Sure baby, mañana.’ It was always mañana. For the next week that was all I heard – mañana, a lovely word that probably means heaven.”
Well snap your fingers, light a cigarette, and call me Marylou. I’ll cross this country with or without you.