But it was that beautiful cut of clouds I could always see above the little S.P. alley, puffs of air floating by from Oakland or the Gate of Marin to the north or San Jose south, the clarity of Cal - it'll break your heart. It was the fantastic drowse and drum of hum of lum mum afternoon nothing to do, old Frisco with end of land sadness, end of land gladness. The people, the alley full of trucks and cars of business nearabouts and nobody knew or far from cared who I was all my like three thousand five hundred miles from birth and opened up and at last belonged to me in Great America. // And high above in the sky the magic stars following hotshot freight trains.Bara att det inte var vare sig amerika eller frisco. Jag slutar här, innan det urartar!