Each evening while I was in Mexico, I would drift down to the rocks beside the sea to smoke a cigar and watch the tide rise while the sun faded.
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Each evening while I was in Mexico, I would drift down to the rocks beside the sea to smoke a cigar and watch the tide rise while the sun faded.
So I’m sitting by the pool in Cabo San Lucas, reading Gary Snyder’s latest collection of poems, “Danger on the Peaks.”
LBJ was almost taken away with the dirty dishes in Amsterdam and left behind at a restaurant in Helsinki. But neither of those experiences prepared him for his brush with death in Mexico.