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I told her that if she did something crazy, I’d write about her. She never did, but I guess pouring me a drink will suffice.

When the band finished their set, I overheard them talking to a few people. The band members, all roommates, had also all worked at Licorice Pizza, an old record store. Their conversation led to me and a guy nearby talking about the ‘60s band Love, members of which lived in Bela Lugosi’s old mansion in the Hollywood Hills.

I walked to a different section of the backyard and discovered a tree house where people were smoking pot.

I heard a couple arguing because the guy was moving to Oceanside. “If you want me to see you,” the girl said, “be prepared to give me gas money.”

I glanced in one room and saw that they had a TV set with flames flickering on the screen. It looked like a fireplace.

There was a real fireplace in the center of the living room, which a few people were lounging around.

I went outside to smoke a cigar, and a woman named Molly tripped over a board on the patio and fell into me. She laughed it off, and someone said, “Everyone trips over that.” Molly told me that she’s a local musician. I told her that she was the third Molly I’d met who’s a musician. As she was explaining what type of music she plays, someone else tripped over the same board.

I said, “If Ian doesn’t get that fixed, she’s going to be sued. And someone else will end up owning this incredible house.”

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