We ran off from Burbank and settled in the women's house in West Los Angeles and I rode the bus to the hotel downtown every day and the ex- found a job and my daughter was put into a Sikh daycare and we all got sick with hepatitis and then my daughter came down with meningitis and was at Cedars, and survived. The house fell apart, with the women all going off in different directions. I landed a job managing an apartment building about a quarter mile away near La Cienega & Venice. I'm currently writing a play set in the building. There was a real pimp upstairs who ran his girls over on La Cienega. A cyclist (racer) recovering from a major bike crash and had multiple screws in his leg and hip. A fired old manager and his girl friend who were being evicted but in LA that took years. A bitchy little building owner that was as cheap as Scrooge. A handy man that broke things. And tenants that were all low rent and alcoholics and who had fights in the courtyard. There was a swimming pool filled with dirt and a couple of plants stuck in it. We had nothing, no furniture, no nothing, no money. The gas kept getting shut off for non-payment. You've not lived until you've had to take an ice cold shower in the morning. The ex- started fights with the tenants. And refused to accept rents if I wasn't there. She ran one of our cats off in a rage and I never did find him. We finally moved out near the boardwalk in Venice, because it was cheaper and less hassles.
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