Somewhere behind California Street

Here's me, in my work uniform as a student at UCSC in the very late 1970s, in my busy, ramshackle, noisy/noisome, student-infested, off-street love nest ostensibly addressed "California Street." Many memories made here, as I moved from apartment to apartment, bed to bed, affair to affair, and still wound up being lonely and depressed most of the time, before I dropped out. Totally my own fault for not grabbing (both literally and metaphorically) all the drugs, good times, gusto and ass flung my way. Not that I didn't make friends (one to this day), make love and waste time with the best of them, just on a smaller scale.

Irritated all, disappointed many, ignored some, impressed a couple, and got to know too few of the other inmates. Heard everyone do everything at all times of day or night, there being naught but black plastic sheeting between ill-fitting planks lining the halls full of terrarium carpeting. The building was perfectly sprung for amplifying the weakest temblor, and I felt them all, rocking me to sleep, rocking me awake, and just rocking us in flagrante delicto. Salad days, and most of that from the dumpsters downtown. I'd only trade these memories for better ones of things I never tried.