Finally made it over to City Lights Bookstore the other night to explore Jack Kerouac’s old haunts on Jack Kerouac Alley. He often frequented the pub next door as well. In some ways it was as though time itself had not touched these surroundings (coincidentally so) as I witness a dating couple sitting next to me in the basement discussing such a topic. The guy says to the girl very deeply “Time doesn’t actually exist. It’s just a tool that we’re taking too seriously.” The girl is very into this and responds “Yeah, like we just use it to set boundaries but it’s not really real”. I am eavesdropping and laughing to myself, wishing I could stay to hear this conversation in it’s entirety. Kerouac himself would have strongly approved of the young man picking up the girl with his seemingly heavy-handed quasi-eastern philosophy. It’s a beautiful store packed with history, character and rebelliously political hand-picked selections. There was an active poetry reading on the upper floor and I hope to attend more frequently. I left with a copy of ‘Bob Dylan in America’. Predictable.