And I dreamed of a home long ago in New England, my little KitKat trying to go a thousand miles following me on the road across America, and my mother with a pack on her back, and my father running after the ephemeral unwatchable train, and I dreamed and woke up to a gray dawn, saw it, sniffed (because I had seen all the horizon shift as if a scene shifter had hurried to put it back in place and make me believe in its reality), and went back to sleep, turning over. "It's all the same thing," I heard my voice say in the void that's highly embraceable during sleep.

The Dharma Bums