William S. Burroughs from The Adding Machine: Selected Essays
As
a young child I wanted to be a writer because writers were rich and
famous. They lounged around Singapore and Rangoon smoking opium in a
yellow pongee silk suit. They sniffed cocaine in Mayfair and they
penetrated forbidden swamps with a faithful native boy and lived in the
native quarter of Tangier smoking hashish and languidly caressing a pet
gazelle.
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