So my mom gave me this book for Christmas." Jack Kerouac in Florida". This guy was my idol in high school, he lived for a short time in Orlando in the back of this little house. He was there when "On the road" was published, which catapulted him into instant celebrity over night, and it was also there a few years later that he wrote "Dharma bums". Two weeks ago I got a chance to I visit his old house, which is now a writers retreat. I used to not believe in auras or anything like that, but I definitely felt something standing there, in the front yard, shooting with my holga, stealing the soul of the place. someone asked me - does the experience make you want to reread his writings? I think for now- No, those belong to a certain time in my life, A moment... I would hate to ruin that feeling 15 years later.