Peter Case

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    CUT THROAT ANGELS  We crossed over into Mexico at Tijuana, in the afternoon a day or so later. I don’t know what we thought we were doing in the meantime. None of it made much sense. I’d met Shawn on the Santa Barbara boardwalk. She was about my age, a nice hippie girl, pretty, and very friendly. We met by arrangement later that night, down on the beach again, and after some talk, flirtation, and fooling around, Eric drove us to a nearby park, gave me a blanket, dropped us off, and split. Shawn and I spread the
“FRIJOLES TEQUIlA AMOR”   We came down out of the mountains a few hours later, hit the road from Mexicali, and turned right, heading south. We didn’t see any other southbound travelers yet, just the occasional pickup trucks loaded with produce or equipment heading the other way. We were hot and delirious with thirst. There was nothing in sight, no store, no stations, no restaurants, or even homes along this stretch. Only more rocks, sand, mountains, and road. The sun was riding way down in the sky now, shadows were long, but the day was still very hot. We began
When I was a kid John Lennon was one of my biggest heros. At 16 years old I read the Rolling Stone interview, and JL said something like 'I'm the kind of person, when I have a hero, if I find out they wear green socks, I'll run out and buy green socks'  and  I immediately started to wear green socks myself. Wore 'em for years. I know that's fucked up. He did a photo spread in Look Magazine, with Yoko, it must have been around the time of  the making of the White Album, and the pictures made a
THE WATER YOU DRINK We headed up into the Sierra De Juarez mountains, on this little one lane road about an hour after we woke up. It was mid-day, and the temperature was up over 100 degrees, I’m guessing, maybe way over. The sun was closer than I’d ever seen it, and we couldn’t escape the burn. Through hills of scorched brown dirt, and dead blonde grass, on this tiny jagged line of a road, Eric pushed the Corolla through the turns, taking the bumps full on, driving as fast and as hard as he possibly could. His eyes looked
CUT THROAT ANGELS  We crossed over into Mexico at Tijuana, in the afternoon a day or so later. I don’t know what we thought we were doing in the meantime. None of it made much sense. I’d met Shawn on the Santa Barbara boardwalk. She was about my age, a nice hippie girl, pretty, and very friendly. We met by arrangement later that night, down on the beach again, and after some talk, flirtation, and fooling around, Eric drove us to a nearby park, gave me a blanket, dropped us off, and split. Shawn and I spread the blanket back
      SCOTCH AND SODA It was late in the day before I came to, and we pulled ourselves together enough to go. We left SF, Eric at the wheel, driving south on Highway 101, with no idea if, how, or when we’d be back. For funding, we had my earnings from the street corner the night before, about 20 bucks, as well as Eric’s Bank Americard. He had decided that since he couldn’t meet his credit card bill, he was gonna burn it out, and this trip was to be the last big flame. Then he was gonna
BROADWAY AND COLUMBUS  The streets were teeming with celebrants. It was Saturday night, San Francisco, the second week of August, 1973 and about 9:30. An hour before, I was alone on the corner of Broadway and Columbus, right across from City Lights Books, singing “When a Man Loves a Woman” for no one, when a fist came out of nowhere and caught me upside the head: What the fuck, man! I looked up to see that my assailant was young and haggard, raging mad, glaring, ready to hit me again: “You signifyin’, motherfucker?!” I had no idea what he was
  JUNKYARD LIVING IS EASY TO DO Danny and I started playing together as a duo, with Bert often adding a third voice and guitar. It was a loose, almost jokey band arrangement. We had no serious intent to make records, play gigs, have hits, or go on tour. We were strictly street: happy to play on corners indefinitely. We needed a name for the outfit. Bert was voting for The Babies, but that didn’t seem to fit. I thought Beri Beri and The Incredible Symptoms had a nice sound, in a show business kind of way. But Danny came
    WOODSHEDDING  I ended up sleeping in the back seat of Bert’s old blue Oldsmobile, parked in front of his pad in Bernal Heights. His car was becoming my new home. First thing each morning, Bert came out and drove, with me still in back, a few blocks, to the free breakfast at the St. Vincent De Paul’s, where the Christian communist workers waited on the tables of the indigent, bringing plates of eggs, sausage, toast and fruit, along with steaming cups of coffee. I was playing on the streets every day, from about 11 a.m. until midnight, 2
            WANDERING  By the next morning I was leading a parade. On my trek ‘til dawn, I picked them up one by one: a runaway teenage girl, a flute player, a wayward marine, and a rumple-suited drunk businessman. The flute player was a sprite named Willie, a really sweet, gentle guy. I’d run into him before, and I liked him. He was dark skinned, but with a very intense case of the pigment loss disease Vitiligo, that you noticed right off. . Though he wasn’t dressed like it, he seemed to have money, or come