The ashtray had broken in half from the heat, and the sofa was burning, although asbestos material had prevented it from being on fire in a way that would spread the flames. | ran down the steps and got the fire extinguisher off the wall in the hall, ran back up and sprayed the sofa.
“You should be ashamed of yourself,” | said to myself.
| was grateful that only the sofa had been destroyed. Also, my pride in expanded consciousness had disintegrated. |’ ve never quite forgiven myself for having endangered the lives and property of the tenants in the other four apartments. | had ignored the concept of cause and effect. My
bad. Immensely.
4. On the morning of April 1st, 1995, | flew to San Francisco. | was scheduled to emcee a benefit for Jack Kerouac’ s daughter, Jan, who had been on dialysis treatment for the last few years. On that sunny afternoon, | was stoned in Washington Square Park, wearing the MAD magazine jacket that my daughter Holly had given me for Christmas. The smiling face of Alfred E. Neuman--stating his renowned philosophy, “What--me worry?” --graced the back of my jacket
| was waiting for the arrival of the annual Saint Stupid Day Parade,
led this year by Grand Marshal Ken Kesey in an open-topped convertible.
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