by David Blanton
My ex-wife told me to read Jack Kerouac. I fell in love with spontaneous prose, the way words jump like lightning, and how when you write from your gut it feels something like ecstasy. When we were married she called me a beatnik, but I don't think it was a compliment. After the divorce, I drove up to Richmond, VA to find a college girl I had lost touch with. I found her old apartment, but she was gone. Richmond was cold with freezing winds that chased me down the Interstate as I headed south, my heart warm in my throat, jumping up and down to the rhythm of the potholes in the road.
David Blanton is a writer and artist living in Pensacola, Florida.