An excerpt from an e-mail Canadian Brendan sent me earlier today:
so that story - it's called "good blonde" by kerouac. it's a short little ditty about jack being picked up by a blonde from texas and driving home to San Francisco, he to revisit his old gang, and she to get back to her boyfriend. i read it on friday night [maybe thursday? who knows.] and last night i had the strangest dream. i woke up in the back seat of a maroon '55 lincoln continental [the same from the story], and looked at the driver, a young woman who looked nothing like the description of the driver in the story - she was tall, thin, short reddish brown hair, where as the blonde was, well, blonde, short and wearing a white bathing suit. in any case, the driver turned to me and said "oh, you're awake! hi!" to which i replied "where are we? where are we going? who are you?" and the answers were "we're in toledo, we're going home, and i'm 'norah' - nice to meet you!" i sat in the back, silently looking forward. after a bit of conversation, it turned out it WAS you driving us 'home' - and after a few miles, i woke up. hmph. now, i've never seen a picture of you, i have no idea what kind of car you drive, but there you were, driving along, humming with the radio, tapping the dashboard, blasting across the freeway with controlled abandon - if that's even possible. strange? highly, i think.
I am tall. I am very thin. I have reddish-brown hair. I sing along with the radio. A lot. This is very odd to me. I just needed to share.