My wife and I broke up and I came to L.A. with my friend Art Cover, who's
a science-fiction writer. We came down and we hung out and we sponged
off of and roomed with our friend Harlan Ellison, another s-f writer, who
was gracious enough to put up with two 22-year-old twits who had nowhere
to go. Harlan took us in until we could afford a place of our own
. . . I found an editorial job with an outfit called American Art Enterprises,
which was then California's largest publisher of--how can we term this?
Grover Lewis: Pornography?
Gus: How about racy material?
when gus first moved down to california from washington he hung out with
a lot of broke writers. he lived in a place in venice for a while.
a REAL rundown apartment. when i'd go to pick him up there'd be addicts
lying in the hallway with needles still stuck in their arms.
everywhere73: I remember when I met Gus, he said the neighborhood he was living in was so bad he just left his door unlocked because he was tired of having it broken.
Snuffiebob: ha! i think that about sums it up. the cockroaches held major maneuvers in his place. and it didn't help the situation that gus was such a pig. he tried combatting them by nailing a pest strip along the baseboad. then when he ensnared one he'd hammer a nail through it to "scare off" the others. i'd told him a better tactic would be cleaning up all the empty mcdonalds cartons more than once a month.
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