Kerouac’s Grave.

Visited the poet today on what would have been his 90th birthday. As you can see, I wasn’t the only one to drop by.

It was a spontaneous trip, so I hadn’t brought anything as an offering. I did find a withered Cheerio in my pocket. My son had been sucking on it earlier.

I thought the symbolism of the Cheerio was pretty good. Sometimes spontaneous symbolism is the best kind. (I find this to be true in writing as well.)