Road to Elsewhere, Excerpt #21*: Portrait of the Artist as a Young Nincompoop
Not all who wander are lost. But if you are, why not in Paris?
ON THE MORNING OF OCTOBER 28th, 1978, I walked out on the streets of Paris to encounter for the millionth time the reality of experience and to forge in the smithy of my soul the uncreated conscience of my race.
No, wait, that was Stephen Daedalus at the end of Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man.
That morning, I would settle for the reality of breakfa…
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