Lizibeth looked at me, ?you did well Kala.? I smiled, I enjoy praise. She pointed at a door down the hall a little way. ?That’s a closet for the cle...ning staff, empty the buckets into its sink, then fill the sink with cold water from the tap and let the brushes and gloves soak. Leave the door open when you’re done.? I nodded, taking two trips on my knees to do as she ordered. By the time I returned, a breathless Xo had come back with a thin long leather strap. It had no handle but one end had a. My Cherokee friends Jim and Tahoe ran a commune in a large third-floor apartment at the corner of Haight and Ashbury. They called it The Madhouse. (They later relocated to a coastal rural setting and called that place The Funny Farm.) Ex-Madhouse residents sliding to lower social rungs usually ended up in the Shithouse, before moving on to worse fates. Dick The Prick slid from the Madhouse to the Shithouse. He and the Shithouse manager Little Dave often shared my wife MariLyn. At the Madhouse,. More

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