I am reading Underworld by Don DeLillo and just came across this passage tonight: “Bronzini thought that walking was an art. He was out nearly every day after school, letting the route produce a medley of sounds and forms and movements, letting the voices fall and the aromas deploy in ways that varied, but not too much, from day to day. . . . Bronzini didn’t own car, didn’t drive a car, didn’t want one, didn’t need one, wouldn’t take one if somebody gave it to him. Stop walking, he thought, and you die.”
That's the idea, at least. I'm walking westward from New York City for nine months or so.
If everything goes according to plan, I'll be in Oregon when the clock runs out.
If nothing goes according to plan, maybe I'll end up in Peru or Mongolia or Pennsylvania.
You can read all about the details of my trip
if you're so inclined.
I am reading Underworld by Don DeLillo and just came across this passage tonight: “Bronzini thought that walking was an art. He was out nearly every day after school, letting the route produce a medley of sounds and forms and movements, letting the voices fall and the aromas deploy in ways that varied, but not too much, from day to day. . . . Bronzini didn’t own car, didn’t drive a car, didn’t want one, didn’t need one, wouldn’t take one if somebody gave it to him. Stop walking, he thought, and you die.”
Beautiful!
Some nice-looking Triscuits you’ve got there.