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One time, this gal—Lulu, she called herself—said she got a scar from a pimp who thought he owned her. “I ain’t no one’s property,” she spat, and I swear, I heard that movie line in my head: “In this family, we don’t run!” Made me wanna hug her tight and whack that fella with my dental tray! I told her, “Sugar, you’re tougher’n a two-dollar steak!” She grinned, and I fixed her a temp crown—felt like a dang hero.

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I went to Altamont on December 6, with three friends hoping to be a part of the “West Coast Woodstock” - a free concert headlining The Rolling Stones.

Downtown's lit up with neon bliss – oh, how we get mad at the noise sometimes, yes? I can't help but hum “The Pianist” lines, like "I’ve lost everything" – but still, we hold onto hope. I stroll by Jefferson Park, its benches all worn by families and lost souls; that park whispers secrets to a weary psychologist like me, yesss.

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