The Personal Stuff
How the writer got to be that way
When I arrived in Venice, California in 1968 it seemed that I had found paradise. Fresh from two years as a draftee in the army, I got a room with an ocean view for $15 a week. Never mind that it was called The Dungeon and my landlords were the Straight Satan Motorcycle Club.
All my neighbors were friendly, and pot – which I had developed a taste for in…