17th sentence of the 17th book

The 17th book* on my Kerouac bookshelf is Jack Kerouac's Pic (McGraw-Hill, 1974), and the 17th sentence (in honor of today being the 17th day of the month) is:

This is the bottom of the world, where little raggedy Codys dream, as rich men plan gleaming plastic auditoriums and soaring glass fronts on Park Avenue and the rich districts of Denver and the world. (p. 5)

Or, one might say, as rich men plan illegal ways to buy their dullard children into the best schools.


*Actually, the next book on the shelf was Kerouac's Book of Blues, but as we saw with Scattered Poems and San Francisco Blues, poetry doesn't lend itself to sentence counting -- so, I skipped it for purposes of this project.