Pon The Road
Pon The Road is a generated novel (based on simple markov generation library Markovify) by Jack Khrouac.
Pon The Road was generated for NaNoGenMo 2016.
Excerpt from Pon The Road
By Jack Khrouac
He said he had wild bop night again. That night it was. Marylou, rustle around the toilet bowl and went hyaw hyaw hyaw hyaw. «Blow!» yelled Dean in the room. I never know where all this was dead ahead. We whispered frantically in the soft Indian-summer rainy night. Dean packed his broken thumb wrapped in the car. In the spacious Hudson we had longer ways to go. «What kind of dumb attempt on my mother. I know that's what I said Denver.
Suddenly a horseman in a water glass, and we were in the car; off we went over and to prove this to me?» And she gave Dean eighteen dollars to mail to his old Ford coupe that he can't feel the sidewalks of life his hom a long stretch where Eddie and I wished I was two weeks and took a bus to Bakersfield and into New Jersey? He's filling empty space with the naming tyro Dean. A tall figure receding in the rain. «Play the music box and pulling out beer bottles and everything Dean did so. And Shearing was conscious of Chicago gangs that pass like this because, man, the chili! Look out there beneath the long stretches my scythe had to look her up while I was on hand in hand. At this time, and we want to marry her and wring it out on the other hand distractedly inside his pants. We mbbed our nervous blue eyes fixed in a stratosphere liner with this cat Stan! Suddenly our lights were burning, where a huge living room with his wife - all humanity, the lot. 27 The following fall I myself started back home from work, dust, excitement, the great and final city of Gregoria could hear them laugh. It haunted and tired of it and jumped with joy. You came out with it: he wanted to take her driving in his old Chevy.
Ed Dunkel sitting around on their chairs, shaking and jumping. «I got wife and baby were with him up for you - very important to me the beer» and «What kicks !» At dusk I walked. What'll we do?» Old Dean's gone, I thought, and out for hours - thirty hours - thirty hours - and Dean took his wallet, har-rumphed, and handed me a big elongated body and whitewall tires and probably even got sleepy. It was the star in one of them. Back in the back seat, crying to see everything. Up ahead we could hardly swallow it. He made long speeches, he jumped over it tonight.» Guitars tinkled. The afternoon grew long and devouring as it grew dark we heard the trumpets bit the part of the car and is coming to New York in two days. «Well, Sal, damn, I wish Dean wasn't so sure myself. Where was my first view of the earth, fifty miles away. A man in Frisco on the same thing again to see nobody swore. With our last food dollar. I wasn't scared at all; I knew I had lived here awhile and speculated about what it was. «Yes, yes, of course, I know - clutching a loaf of bread and cheese while the big town, Sal! I walked on a day taking pictures.* Ed Dunkel, as ever, just followed. It had never fallen farther; in idiocy, with infected thumb, surrounded by wooden garages and old men on comers blowing trumpets. We gazed and gazed at our arms around me and promised myself to perform like this in the roadhouse and carried across the whole world.