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. . . And me on a spotted ass, with eyes like darkened mirrors and a brave-hearted stride, knocking down the highwayside, on a lonesome quest to rattle the bones of DonQuixote, Little Willie, so many word- and song-ghosts - here we come to rock Bottom, Aliass and me, creaking down through boneyards and backroads, city streets and convenience stores, up from the steamy dream-swamp and on toward Bewilderness, Virginia: the impossible home. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . |
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