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.