The Cats

It's after the Zombie read.

I come back home and hang out with my roommate and our Los Gatos friends.
I'm finally happy enough about hanging out in my apartment smoking and drinking and finally just enjoying ourselves.
It was strange to have that group of friends - I've been used to San Francisco so long, I've forgotten that our favorite topics of conversation back home is complaining about the rich people who lived in our town (and surrounding areas i.e. Saratoga Hills).

We knew ridiculously rich people who were famous, "my friends' parents are with old money" - and they talk about their summer homes and timeshares in Beverley Hills and San Diego and all the people they knew. Their uncle's house was the shooting site for American Beauty. They were paid sixty grand so the set could move in and use their house for three months. Crazy shit - and we were something in the middle of the rich dipshits and the underprivileged. I guess I was of the lower end of that. Our Los Gatos friends are going to Northwestern and Marquette. Famous professional sports athletes live in our neighborhoods. A guy living down the street who wrote Kiss Kiss Bang Bang. Steven Spielberg's birthplace and first amateur sets was the next town over. It's so strange to be where I am, almost destitute, going to a less than reputable school, to have grown up and raised in a town such as this magnitude. What a mind compressor.

Back when we did coke, took cruises, and bought chemicals from Canada.