... good ol Sal if he was born today his story of America and Dean couldn’t be told. No endless sentences without break, and no spontaneous creation nor no beat in Detroit, with no food and sleeping in the library reading about the woods and the Oregon trail. There’s be no highway and no popping bennies or sleepless nights in Denver. Be no Brooklyn bridge and no close calls with cops. There’d be no Marylou and no dying in Mexico City. There’d be no protagonist and there’d be no writer, at least the same kind of writer that actually happened.