“You know what’s kind of funny?” Ralph said to Sam. “I’ve been reading quite a lot of classic western poetry lately and I’ve been getting the oddest of sensations from it.”
“O.K.,” Sam conceded. “Go on. Now what’s happening?”
“It seems that everytime I spend a few hours in my room reading poetry,” Ralph continued, “Whether it’s Walt Whitman, Emily Dickinson, the Rossetti’s or whoever, I always seem eventually to see footprints after I’m finished.
“Do you think you should follow them?” his friend wanted to know. “Are you at least curious up to a point?”
“Hey,” Ralph went on. “Who knows? Maybe it’s even like that Woody Allen movie, ‘Midnight In Paris’. Would that be such a hoot or what? Maybe if Dante shows up, he could even take me to thirteenth century Florence. Even better than that, he could even take me to Hell, Purgatory, and Heaven. That’s the best part of classic western literature,” he said. “One minute a guy is sitting around reading. Next thing he knows, he’s in Restoration period England with John Milton.”
“That’s the problem with those of us who read stuff like ‘Popular Mechanics’, Sam said. “We always end up in places like Butte, Montana, three years ago.”