santiago comes back, with nothing  there's no meat on the bone. it's hemingway's ego defending itself again; he's trying to prove he can still perform.
gilfond's okay, except he thinks hemingway's great literature.
he's a fisherman! the most overrated writer of the century. i mean, he's the perfect american author  fat, violent, drunk.
a writer's life is his work. jack kerouac doesn't have to kill a bull to have something to write about. he's out there feeling, burning.  grooving on life!
what're you doing here anyway?
i thought chicks like you traveled in packs.
this is great reefer.
the world is fantastic. it's the ultimate absurd circus. i am shot from a cannon into the energy.
maximum intensity. yeah. i can't wait to get out of here. i'm gonna write. i'm gonna check out of this bourgeois motel. push myself away from the dinner table and say 'no more jello for me, mom.'
the only thing my father digs is cold, green money. all my mother cares about is her standing at the country club.
hey what's with you? i thought you were cool. you rode my bike. you blew some pot. what's your scene miss majorette? you gonna marry mr. blue impala and graze around with all the other sheep for the rest of your life?
you know, i had you pegged all wrong.
a ray of oneness piercing the solitude. falling bodies in the ecstasy of flesh. you'll be a chapter in my memoirs of desire.
no, i just made that up. do you want to hear one?
okay. here's a new one. it's called tenderness. i couldn't sleep so i thought i'd scream betrayed by a kiss, sucking pods of bitterness. in the madhouse of dr. dread razor shreds of rat puke fall on my bare arms i'm sorry. i guess i was trying to impress you.
i'll respect you for eternity. 'when you are old and gray, and full of sleep, and nodding by the fire, take down this book, and slowly read, and dream of the soft look your eyes had once." i didn't write that. that's yeats.
that was quite an evening. bourgeois, phony, decadent, stupid.
five more weeks of school. and ten minutes past graduation i'm gone. to freedom.
now listen, this is the plan. as soon as school is finished we go to utah and.
rita. i met her last summer. she's cool. you'll really dig her. she's got this great little cabin in the hills, just outside of provo where she raises chickens. i'll write and the two of you can take care of the chickens to support us.
why not? polygamy's legal in utah.
but what about the other night? we were like two stars in the same constellation.
but we had heat baby. passion! fire! we owe it to ourselves to fuse together. at least one more time.
you think so?
i can dig that. bittersweet perfection. dogs of lust on leashes of memory.  yeah.
now i get it.
peggy sue's still stuck on treble without a cause.
can we split now?
i can dig you being uptight about rita and utah. that's cool. but i've got to warn you about something.
my father. he's not just the ultimate square. he's a total crook.