Spikey haired gent

 spiky haired gent

     One of the most enjoyable and eventful psychedelic journeys I ever took was with Greg and Kevin in the early 1970"s. It was nothing fancy, just a windowpane winner called "green booger" and a drive around downtown Los Angeles and West LA. We dropped at an apropriate time and were in a good, giddy place when we piled into my car and began our exploration of the city. As is the case when acid works the best way, everything was shiny and new but we sought the real LA and set out for skid row and the downtown that was not really getting back on its feet after freeways left the place bereft. No matter, as all three of us knew downtown as the forbidden and fascinating place like no other in our expeience. Greg and Kevin had spent time delivering flowers and hanging around 8th and Fig and I had been a delivery boy for my Dad in the mid 1960's.  The Skid Row we cruised through was a sad and desperate scene before much of the effort to help the homeless in places like the Weingart Center or the Midnight Mission grew to accomodate the thousands who needed help. We purposely drove where sane people would avoid since there was no real police presence and the streets were filled with low-grade criminals and seriously mentally ill sad cases. Even in our adventurous mode we did not really want to stop at corners but at one point we were forced to obey a red light and were sitting at an intersection around 5th and Wall when a frightful apparition staggered up to the corner just a few feet from our open window where there was a metal box attached to a traffic light pole and a previously owned can of pepsi cola sat in a pool of liquid with flies abounding. The man was obviously very far gone into the depths of mental illness and was in rags with a countenance that could have been used in a horror film. Everything we saw was amplified but when this black man covered in filth reached up and took the  pepsi can in hand we sort of uttered "oh oh no" as he gulped a mouthful and then grinned right at us as he allowed the sticky liquid to dribble out of his mouth and down his chin. His hair was in spikes of dirt way before people of color wore their hair in that style and his eyes glowed with a demonic focus. The image really never left our subconscious and many times we referred to the poor man as "the spikey-haired gent"