A Reading
It was in my freshman year in college when I found myself suddenly freed of the protective wings of my mother’s nest and released unsuspectingly into the real world. True, I wasn’t with the Kerouacs or Cassidys, riding and driving in cross country orgies of food, booze, a few women (very few women), Buddhism and poetry, no I was too much in the midst of my disillusionment with Rod McKuen to know about beat poetry. I stood in line that October, not knowing that just a year later, the woman I...