"A true story, not a joke, though it was repeated as often, tug boated relentlessly, was of the beat cop from Court Street who routinely dislodged clumps of teenagers clustered at night on stoops or in front of bars and who, if met with excuses, would cut them off with “Yeah, yeah. Tell your story WALKING.” More than anything, this somehow encapsulated my sense of Minna—his impatience, his pleasure in compression, in ordinary things made more expressive, more hilarious or vivid by their conflation. He loved talk but despised explanations. An endearment was flat unless folded into an insult. An insult was better if it was also self-deprecation, and ideally should also serve as a slice of street philosophy, or as resumption of some dormant debate. And all talk was finer on the fly, out on the pavement between beats of action: We learned to tell our story walking."
— Motherless Brooklyn - Jonathan Lethem
"At Titusville they began to believe they were there.
At Vero Beach, Heff and Jack sang ‘Peggy Sue’.
At Fort Pierce they slept on the sand and woke up thirsty. Gnossos went creeping into an orange grove off the highway and returned, rucksack bulging.
At Lake Worth they got a traffic ticket for using the horn and Gnossos took up an hour collecting as many stubs as he could find on the windshields of other cars. He mailed them all to the local fuzz, in a large manila envelope with no return address.
In Fort Lauderdale the stomach pain grew worse. It spread, in fact, into his groin and he pretended it didn’t exist.
In Miami there was an ecstatically painful burning sensation when he went to the bathroom, and he had to lean against the wall to steady himself. But by the time they drove down Collins Avenue it was not so bad. They dug the ankleless women in pink straw hats, the faces dripping of Coppertone and cacao butter, the men in Dr. Scholl’s sandals, the off-duty busboys playing Aga Khan. Judy and Juan Carlos had been given the back seat to themselves and seemed, incredibly, to have found true love."
— Been Down So Long It Looks Like Up To Me - Richard Fariña
"They went down the icy steps into the street, up the rest of the long hill toward the campus. Mounds of heavy, bulky snow everywhere, the Mystic Lakes breed of winter, swooping early out of the north; the sky swollen, portentous, dumping huge, carpet like flakes incessantly, neutralizing each extreme of spectral color, sterilizing shapes, muting sounds, holding out against the first torrential thaw, the first blinking of the unclothed sun. I am not ionized and I possess not valence."
— Richard Fariña capturing “Mentor University,” aka Cornell University/Ithaca, wonderfully in Been Down So Long It Looks Like Up To Me