“So it was always at night, like a werewolf, that I would take the thing out for an honest run down the coast. I would start in Golden Gate Park, thinking only to run a few long curves to clear my head . . . but in a matter of minutes I’d be out at the beach with the sound fof the engine in my ears, the surf booming up on the sea wall and a fine empty road stretching all the way along Santa Cruz . . . "
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