CALIFORNIFICATION

So there I lay, wrapped in a striped beach towel, three wash clothes and a roll of Charmin for a pillow. I had to keep flipping from side to side to breathe. Remember that deviated septum? Just as I was getting comfortable i heard a knock at the door. It wasn't the usual insistent rap of Honey's sharp knuckles. No, this was soft and polite. Like a velvet glove. "Sir, this is Officer So and So. Would you unlock the door and come out here please?" Jesus! She had called the cops. Never underestimate the extent to which a woman will go when she decides to burrow under your skin.
I emerged, blinking, wet floor head hair spiked in all directions, naked but for that beach towel. "Let's go in the other room." the young Berkeley cop said as his partner removed a glaring Honey to the bedroom. I prayed Honey hadn't narced my stash to the law and followed the crackling sound of a radio into the living room. The cop went to lay his hat down on the glass table and it fell through to the floor. He looked embarrassed. I just shrugged. I hadn't gotten around to cutting a piece of plywood for the top. We both sat on the couch I lit a cigarette and offered him one. He shook his head. "So...." he started the conversation. I picked up the ball.
This was before California law had been changed in regard to domestic disturbance. Now days cops take both parties in and sort it out later. Back then the cops separated the parties and if they could calm things down no paper work was needed. It was also before ATMs, computers, cell phones, VCRs, and the murder of my neighbor who blew the whistle on Jim Jones. The cop was OK. I gave him the thumbnail concerning Honey and I and our stormy relationship. I showed him my wounds and asked him to check Honey for any such marks. He was as puzzled as I why she had called the cops, but said i should maybe split for the night. I agreed, found some dry clothes and walked down the stairs with the cops, thanking God Honey hadn't spitefully nodded towards the scale and bindles of white stuff.
I got in the MG and pointed it towards SF. I still kept a studio in the Mission and was finding myself crashing there more and more. Off towards the west I saw a glow. In the middle of the Berkeley mudflats, just off the highway, a giant bush was ablaze, lighting the surrounding goofy plywood sculptures of stickmen and dragons in an eery orange light. Not a soul was around. In those days I was very aware of signs and omens. Even more so than today. A BURNING BUSH! I had no idea of implications but, cross my heart- there it was.
I hit fourth gear and the little engine purred. The Michelins bit the cool California asphalt and i slipped a Blondie cassette in the slot. The Transamerica pyramid pierced the skyline, beckoning across the bay. There was no traffic. Instead of heading for the studio I decided to get off in Northbeach. I checked the Casio. A little after midnight. Still time for a drink. The was a parking space right in front of Enricos. Golden.