Itâs the tail end of the psychedelic 60âs and paranoia is running the day. If it isnât Charlie Manson, itâs the LAPD or the FBI or the mysterious body of something called âThe Golden Phangâ. So what is all this now?
It was a long hot day under the burning sun in Palm Springs. You know what they say - it never rains in SoCal. The landâs all dried up, withered from the heat. What the hell just happened out there? Everythingâs gone from groovy to âwhere you at man?!â, suggesting a high level of fear or discomfort with the way things are headed. All eyes on me, I guess. Sh*t.
âScrew it, Heitech, youâre alive, man, so relax, take a breather!â Windows down. The â57 Buick is gliding over the asphalt on the PCH, calm and steady. Itâll be a brief visit in Santa Cruz to see an old friend, then back to San Francisco, âcause business awaits in the Haight. Rollin' down the freeway, swervinâ...