jimmie, minkie, and dent set out to become beatniks. what spurred on this desire is anyone's guess. perhaps everyone passes a through beat stage en route to adulthood (except beatniks of course, who are stuck there forever). the thrill of mobility without parental guidance; the personal "on the road". the sudden disillusionment with society; an "america" of your own. the first hit of pot, a "naked lunch" you penned yourself, with little regard for the harnesses of coherence.
for these reasons, and unknown others, jimmie, minkie, and dent set out, one fine april day, to become beatniks.
"what should we listen to?" asked minkie, and the group loaded into jimmie's tan buick. "jazz" answered dent, "the beats loved jazz."
"our lucky day!" proclaimed jimmie, "my grandfather left his old glenn miller tapes in the glove box!"
the gang discussed the lack of diversity in milford (there were not enough black jazzcats like glenn miller), their mutual distaste for the misogynists on the varsity football team (kerouac would have hated them), and whether or not they should attempt to purchase some sort of substance stronger than the shwag that minkie had stolen out of her brother's sock drawer.
after 40 miles of this debate, the conversation puttered to a stop. dent silently wondered how glenn miller's entire band could fit in the underground village jazz joints of the 1960's. minkie fantasized about neal cassidy, as did jimmie...
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