The autobiography of the world famous artist, Christine Rosamond Benton, was disappeared. Michael Dundon and Christine were lovers in 1970. My kin saved me life when he invited me to Blue River to get sober.
My friend Tito signed this. He used to live here. I don’t feel safe. There is a crazy dude that his ex-girlfriend has to know. He came over to beat me up and called me a lunatic. He refuses to give me his name. Rendering me a SUBHUMAN is key in the Defense of Sue Haffner – the rabid evangelical. This made it just in the eyes of God – to damage my book! I had to be beyond redemption. This is why no one got me any mental help. Sue might feel obligated to tell her minister about me – if I was human. Maybe he could help me? But, then he might listen to me – and wonder!
Michael introduced me to the owner of Holiday Farms. I was shown a collection of Indian arrowheads and Western Art. My kin to a load of Christmas threes to Sacramento to sell. He helped me in so any ways deal with the death of Hollis who he never got to meet.
It is alleged one does not quit drinking until you hit bottom. Growing up in Oakland, bottom can be a long and dangerous trip, down.
In 1987 I fouud myself living in a converted water tower in back of a very old Victorian house on 47th. and Shattuck in Oakland. I had lived here six years prior after a teacher at City Cottage bought the place for next to nothing. I was susposed to be the manager, help this Yuppie keep all the riff-raff at bay, but, he rented another back appartment to two young girls who the local gang were pimping out. In otherwords, I was managing a whorehouse for dangerous young dealers – whom I knew since they were twelve. I had befreinded all of them, and they liked me, remembered me fondly!
One day I emerge from Fort Appache to see a burned out car across the…
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