Year Two

If you are going to call them pigs, you have to take care of these problems yourself, was my thinking. He called the cops and they came over, two of them, and they were right in the living room. One dealt with Ford and the other stood in the the living room taking in the view. He was older, maybe late fifties or early sixties, it was hard to tell sometimes in those days, with the kind of food, drinking and smoking people did. I was sitting at the kitchen table drawing with my long hair, and could watch him. He could see me with the whole wall behind me covered with ink drawings and photographs.

This cop was the kind of guy that would say, "Isn't pottery for crazy people". The cop looked out of place and nervous. He was lower class, uneducated and unsophisticated, but probably a nice guy, and really did not have a clue to what this was all about. We were hippies to him, and he must have wondered what sort of spoiled brat hippies lived in a place like this with the city view and all. I the spoiled brat that I was, did not help matters any, by speaking to him or being civil. But that was only because if I was a fish out water to him, he was a whale out of water to me. I had to pity him a-bit, for having to come in there and stand around like a fool, because that was his job. They did find Ford's car a few days later out at Ocean Beach. Who ever stole it took it for a joy ride until they nearly ran out of gas and abandoned it. However they in no way injured it.

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