First off, I was a friend of Jack Kerouac. He was trying to kill himself, and I was trying very desperately to keep him from committing suicide while trying to save a huge Glad bag filled with his manuscripts from the certain destruction he had consigned them to by putting them in the closet. Don't ask me the connection; I don't know what closets and certain destruction have to do with each other. Anyway, he succeeded in killing himself. I ended up rescuing only the manuscripts, because I decided he had written quite enough already.