No, I'm not going to go into some metaphorical tale-spin about the symbolism of roads.
Mom knew him as a silent, bellicose bank customer. Dad sees him as a colorful character of his youth. I'll wonder what I'll think of him in three hours of listening left.
It’s not as though that there’s been a pattern of miscommunications between linguistics and the public, but rather a lack of attempts to bridge the gap between Ivory Tower-knowledge and the misguided assumptions of non-experts.
Humanity’s effort to understand these lines, as if there was some ultimate objective, only distances it inexorably.
Because I'd love to hop a train and have my life become a real journey, but I also like the idea of sleeping indoors.
The practice of writing has a binary definition which is predicated on the intended result of the writer.