"... the only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones that never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars..."
I'm in Jack Kerouac Alley in San Francisco.
My plan after here is to walk to Telegraph Hill and then to the Wharf and maybe grab a coffee -regular with milk- before doubling back and catching the number 30 bus to the train station as I'd rather not get caught in the rush hour.
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