BIG SUR49
for instance, but chaperoned by a Chinese painter—The phone rang consistently—Even wild Negro hepcats from around the corner came in with bottles (Edward Kool and several others)—There was Zen, jazz, booze, pot and all the works but it was somehow obviated (as a supposedly degenerate idea) by the sight of a ‘beatnik’ carefully painting the wall of his room and clean white with nice little red borders around the door and windowframes—Or someone is sweeping out the livingroom. Itinerant visitors like me or Ron Blake always had an extra mattress to sleep on.
