On pg 64 of Indian Journals, there's a letter to Jack (Kerouac I assume) that is a perfect description of my life everyday for the past 11 days and next 12.
India flowing past the train window with huge plains & palm trees & cows & people shitting in the grasses & washing with their loin cloths in muddy rivers & waterbuffalos & the Ghats mts in the heat haze way off.
I ate a piece of cake with my lunch.
great final touch.
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