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Screwjack Screwjack Screwjack Screwjack MESCALITO February 16, 1969 Again in L.A., again at the Continental Hotel . . . full of pills and club sandwiches and Old Crow and now a fifth of Louis Martini Barbera, looking down from the eleventh floor balcony at a police ambulance screaming down toward the Whisky-a-Go-Go on the Strip, where I used to sit in the I afternoon with Lionel and talk with off-duty hookers . . . and while I was standing there, watching four flower children in bell-bottom I pants, two couples, hitch-hiking toward Hollywood proper, a mile or so up the road . . . they no?ticed me looking down and waved. I waved, and moments later, after pointing me out to each I other, they hoisted the “V” signal -- and I returned that. And one of them yelled, “What are you doing up there?” And I said, “I'm writing about all you freaks down there on the street.” We talked back and forth for a while, not communicating much, and I felt like Hubert Humphrey looking down at Grant Park. Maybe if Humphrey had had a balcony in that
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