Where's my gazelle?

"As a young child I wanted to be a writer because writers were rich and famous. They lounged around Singapore and Rangoon smoking opium in a yellow ponge silk suit. They sniffed cocaine in Mayfair and they penetrated forbidden swamps with a faithful native boy and lived in the native quarter of Tangier smoking hasiesh and languidly caressing a pet gazelle."
- William Burroughs, from an unpublished essay in an archive now acquired by the New York Public Library.

I'm sure I used to think something similar too. Sad to say...