Blandly mother takes him strolling by railroad and by river -he's the son of the absconded hot rod angel- and he imagines cars and rides them in his dreams, so lonely growing up among the imaginary automobiles and dead souls of Tarrytown to create out of his own imagination the beauty of his wild forebears-a mythology he cannot inherit.
Will he later hallucinate his gods?
Waking among mysteries with an insane gleam of recollection?
The recognition- something so rare in his soul, met only in dreams -nostalgias of another life.
A question of the soul.
And the injured losing their injury in their innocence -a cock, a cross, an excellence of love.
And the father grieves in flophouse complexities of memory a thousand miles away, unknowing of the unexpected youthful stranger bumming toward his door.
