Nothing About Something

|January 18, 2012 | Stuffs

The other day, I found an old book in a box on the street, and when I opened it, I saw this :

” Where shall we go now? And What shall we do? There’s almost nothing so good at this time of night in New Orleans : they split a crispy, French and flaky loaf of bread in two and pave the inside with beef or pork or ham, salt, pepper, and some kind of pungent relish – or if the oyster season’s on, with six or eight big oysters, fried flaky brown, the way they know to do it there – I don’t know how they do it, but they call it a Poor Boy Sandwich, and the price of it is just ten cents, a dime. I guess they got the name from this, because that’s the only thing that’s poor about it. Why don’t you and Pat go down and bring us back about a half-dozen? – we’ll sit here in the garden, I’ll take beef for mine. – I have remembered nights like these when people plugged a watermelon with champagne – you cut a plug out, and you pour iced champagne in – and you sit there in the garden, eating watermelon on a night like this : how bright and still it is to-night, the moon makes brightness through magnolia leaves, there is so much of death, of life, of stillness, and of fragrance here around us; on nights like these, the river hooks around you like an elbow, and you always know it is above the town. What shall we do now, and where shall we go? “

– Thomas Wolfe, A Prologue To America, from Vogue’s First Reader, Julian Messner, Inc., 1942.