Guau. I just found out tonight I live under a block from where Kerouac lived in 1952 for some months and composed some of his more exotic poetry. Also, Burroughs, that junky, queer sage, lived for some years (and accidentally murdered his wife in an amphetamine induced bout of William Tell using a pistol in place of a bow and arrow).
Interestin' ain't it????
And there's no memorials, nothing. Just an 80s or maybe 90s shit housing thing there. Nothing. Damn, Mexico has some amazing surprises left.
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