Hickory, Dickory, Kerouac
March, 1958
It was a season of great restlessness and change for mice everywhere, a stirring time, a time of moods and urges and moves. The mouse felt it; his whiskers trembled in anticipation. One night there was a party in a stall, and an old badger came. He sat there drinking red wine and aspirin gravely, staring at a young and excitable squirrel who had been on cashews for months."It's the time, man!" the squirrel kept saying to the badger, but the mouse knew the message was for him. It had to...
