A Lost Chapter from The Lives of the Poets

Next door to the dude I used to buy pot from in Hermosa Beach in the 70s lived a chihuahua who wore an eyepatch.   The little fucker looked like a tiny nervous pirate, yipping at me when I walked by the chainlink gate & got into my beatup car (a ’62 Pontiac Tempest), with a lid of panama red in my pocket.   I’d drive the backroad down thru Playa del Rey & up & around back to Lincoln Blvd into Venice praying that the cops wouldn’t stop me for the busted tail light & the expired tags.   I had long hair that hung down past my shoulders in those days & everywhere I went I carried a copy of The Complete Writings of William Blake (Oxford Standard Authors edition).