Drove through Livingston Montana on the way home.  Jim Harrison lives here.  I crept by his house in a not too subtle stalk.  Nothing is subtle about a one-ton diesel.  I didn't have the balls or rudeness to bother him.  I know he received at least two copies of 'Hell'.  I'll keep waiting.  At night I retired to the roof top deck of the hotel. I drank a Jameson's and had a pipe.  This tobacco pouch belonged to my great-grandfather.  History makes us who we are.