I’m living the life of an urban hunter-gatherer – again.

I found myself thinking about Jacqueline, my second or third wife.

We are all refugees, and we have the scar to prove it.

You came out kicking and screaming, reluctant as hell to leave, and you spent the rest of your life trying to get back in.

The enemy never sleeps!

It’s been my experience in life that if you step back and simply allow events to take their course, things will usually work out okay. Or they won’t.

Birth, copulation, death. You come out of one hole and you end up in another one. It’s a pretty short trip.

And when Prohibition came along, Dr. Sharpe’s Shakti Tonic took off like a rocket, mostly due to its hefty eighteen percent alcohol content.

Now we’re riding a runaway train that’s carrying us all away to that final night where nothing is remembered and nothing matters.

Los Angeles, this anthill, this slag heap, the city where I suffered and grappled with life and was defeated, and where I finally triumphed.