Ever south, we followed the beautiful white line. I drove slowly. A tender day, a sky like the sea, the sea like the sky. On the left the golden hills, the gold of winter. A day for saying nothing, for admiring lonely trees, sand dunes, and piles of white stones along the road. Camilla’s land, Camilla’s home, the sea and the desert, the beautiful e

I miss and love with all my purple fist a strange girl from a flamboyant and frightening family, in many ways a flamboyant and frightening girl, perched high in the crow’s nest of the Frequent and Vigorous vessel, scanning gray electrical expanses for the lonely spout of a legitimate telephone call.

‘What is it you’re not telling me? Why don’t you tell me the truth? Tell me the truth!’ I turned and faced her. ‘Hella—bear with me, bear with me—a little while.’ ‘I want to,’ she cried, ‘but where are you? You’ve gone away somewhere and I can’t find you. If you’d only let me reach you—!’ She began to cry. I held her in my arms. I felt nothing at a

I bought a car, a 1929 Ford. It had no top, but it sped like the wind, and with the coming of dry days I took long rides along the blue coastline, up to Ventura, up to Santa Barbara, down to San Clemente, down to San Diego, following the white line of the pavement, under the staring stars, my feet on the dashboard, my head full of plans for another