the next day we walked around kerouac's grave in a misty brown leaf graveyard and then we went into a noise record store that i knew about and the owner made a cynical sarcastic comment about why he didn't see the patti show the night previous ("there was something on tv i wanted to watch ...") i don't know if patti heard him but it freaked me out. cuz, you know, patti's my friend now and if you fuck with her i'm just gonna have to fucking kill you.

Thurston Moore, 1997. I denne fine bog.