It seems to me that you're just on another trip and I keep expecting you. You know, Charley, I think there was more of him in that front stoop than in all the sales he ever made.
When he'd come home from a trip or on Sundays, making the stoop finishing the cellar when he built the extra bathroom and put up the garage. And always, to have to get ahead of the next fella and still, that's how you build a future. To get on that subway, on hot mornings in the the summer, to devote your whole life to keeping stock or making phone calls? By selling and buying? To suffer fifty weeks of the year for the sake of a two-week vacation? When all you really desire is to be outdoors with your shirt off. I spent six or seven years after High School trying to work myself up, being a shipping clerk, salesman, business of one kind or another. Will you let me go, for God's sake? Will you take that phony dream and burn it before something happens? And I look at this pen and I ask myself, 'What the hell am I grabbing this thing for? Why am I trying to become something I don't wanna become when all I want is out there waiting for me the minute I say I know who I am?' The work, the food, the time to sit and smoke. I see all the things I love in this world.
