Invision

One time I was visiting him upstairs and I sat on the floor. It was customary for hippies to sit on the floor at times. Bill told me when I was leaving that he thought I was gay, sitting on the floor and you know, and was prepared to oblige me sexually.

Bill, his brother and friends were of the socio-status as the top of the lower middle class. They tended to act in ways that assumed that we thought we were higher than them, although we simply did not pay that much attention and would not have exhibited such feeling if we had it. There was a dope shortage. The city was dry and we could not get much. Bill and his brother came for a visit, so nice of them, to see how we were doing downstairs. The brother came in with a joint as big as a Groucho Marx cigar, waving it around and flaunting it like there was no tomorrow. Not sure if they offered us any or not, but whether yes or no, I don't believe any exchange took place.

I did do one trade with Bill. I needed a grease-gun for my pottery wheel bearings. Bill liked my Sherlock Holmes, Calabash Pipe, I had smuggled out of Gibraltar. We traded. I still have the grease gun. I probably should have kept the pipe. At some point they moved. I seem to remember now. The reason they moved was because he and his wife broke up, at least I think that was the order of it. He left me a ton of trash to clean up.

It was the Palestinian store owner at the bottom of the hill, that when paying him I noticed that he was highly conscious of whether I would hand over my money with the right or left hand.

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