"maggie mae" was one of those songs... i still have pictures in my head of that song playing... baby skyscrapers around orange country airport drifting past, maggie mae playing... or me searching for it... but mostly raging at the traffic and the commuters
driving my idiotic porsche between a nixon make-work job in santa ana and our little house on balboa island... the house that came furnished with a blood- stained pillow, the stain shaped like the V between a girl's legs.
then the marine corps buddies from air america started blowing through... i'd meet them at LAX, we'd drink and they'd recruit.
"drive that porsche into the ocean... you cant pass up the money."
so i sold out, and by the time we got back to the states, i'd lost it... i was no longer a good american citizen... if i ever had been one.
when we got back, i bought a second-hand chevy suburban, and nearly walked out on the deal because the salesman refused to fill it with gas... my wife intervened.
she got the suburban in the divorce, and used it to haul her boyfriend from the ranch to the hospital after he shot himself.