White boy summer

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Nothing new to care about ...

»Clint, Texas!« said Dean. He had the radio on to the Glint station. Every fifteen minutes they played a record; the rest of the time it was commercials about a high school correspondence course. »This program is beamed all over the West,« cried Dean excitedly. »Man, I used to listen to it day and night in reform school and prison. All of us used to write in. You get a high school diploma by mail, facsimile thereof, if you pass the test. All the young wranglers in the West, I don’t care who, at one time or another write in for this; it’s all they hear; you tune the radio in Sterling, Colorado, Lusk, Wyoming, I don’t care where, you get Glint, Texas, Glint, Texas. And the music is always cowboy hillbilly and Mexican, absolutely the worst program in the entire history of the country and nobody can do anything about it.«

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