I was halfway across America, at the dividing line between the East of my youth and the West of my future.
Somewhere along the line, the pearl would be handed to me.
His friends said, "Why do you have that ugly thing hanging there?" and Bull said, "I like it because it's ugly." All his life was in that line.
The human bones are but vain lines dawdling, the whole universe a blank mold of stars.
Somewhere along the line I knew there'd be girls, visions, everything; somewhere along the line the pearl would be handed to me.