That particular William S. Burroughs quote sticks into me like a thorn. I'm at a crossroads in my life, and I don't know what to do. Weird dreams plague me as of late, vivid I picture a withered man sitting alone in the shadows of a Tangiers cafe in the sweltering stink of the midday. His playful old eyes gleam as I approach. For some reason, he's privy to my destiny.
This causes me strong intrigue, so I ask if I can join him and we spend the afternoon chatting about this and that, mesmerized am I by the swirl of his brilliance as it pours from the top of his head like smoke off a corncob pipe. I sip burnt espresso from my minuscule cup with pleasure. Behind him, veiled women drift down the cool cobblestone passages seemingly undetected. Our conversation stays friendly but vague, so impatience gets the better of me and I rudely interrupt. “William, you were going to tell me what I’m supposed to do with my life.”
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