Tour

So we-must always wonder about the land down-under. Living David stature-ettes who steal from woman. Christ is 'risen. It's a regular-profession and probably even-today. The ass-anation fountain of John Bilks Youth. Not my kind of-tourist-grooms. They made everything, stiff-plays the numbers; give me more-Al or a-least so it seemed by what-little I saw. I was off and back again to the mother-ship.

I-met one of these once David and Lieth, and probably already wrote - somewhere godessknows. I was at Coit Tower in San Francisco to look - not at the bay and North Beach Shore, but to-see the wall-murals on the inside, hallways boarded-up, and could only be-seen, by looking through the very-large, plate-glass windows from the outside - stoned. They were socialist thirties-paintings, done by the WPA, and Old-widow Coit, the money-mount that she was, thought socialism should-neither, be-seen or heard-of in the left-my-heart of San Francisco. But at least she was not so-indecent as to hire a paint removing mural-monster in the dead-of-night, a sacrilege to-some. That was the year of my joint-smoking. I was going to light-up in the back, on the rear concrete-stoop sunny-side, and get a smokey understanding of those secret-coded colored-cartoons. A guy came-around and up the steps of-a-sudden. He was dressed in suit and sport shirt - very spiffy. He was mid-twenties, a city-slicker think from New York, certainly not seeming-Californian. He was again, the nicety-nemesis of now hippie-me.

He pulled-out a joint and asked if I wanted-some. I looked-like a smoker. I said, "Are you a cop ?" He said, "Nooooo - I'm a hustler." "What's that ?", I said. "I hustle-women." "For money ?" "No - I try to get-them to make a porno-movie with-me." What-again ? Wow - now this was something I had never heard of. This was not simple-math. This was a sex-psychological stalking-game, at the base of Coit-Tower, a monument's monument to the Fallacy.

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