"In the morning when the sardine fleet has made a catch, the purse-seiners waddle heavily into the bay blowing their whistles. . . . Then cannery whistles scream and all over the town men and women scramble into their clothes and come running down to the Row to go to work. . . . The canneries rumble and rattle and squeak until the last fish is ...canned ...and the dripping, smelly, tired . . . men and women straggle out and droop their ways up the hill into the town and Cannery Row becomes itself again—quiet and magical."
Since John...
To continue reading:
or
Log-In
