I slept with a bunch of celebs over a long weekend in the 80s.
Well OK, not live in person.
For one long weekend in the early 80s, I was locked up in a small room in New York’s West Village. The sole furnishings were thousands of back issues of Andy Warhol’s Interview magazine. This was a storage space for unsold copies and my good friend Buzz was squatting in it, his taxi-driver wages not sufficient to cover any sort of rent. It was uninhabitable. He lived there for two years.
It was early on in the Reagan era. We had such a mutual horror of this president and, looking back on it, of life in general, that we decided it might be best to hide away, read poetry and spend any spare money on Valium. It was so easily available on prescription back
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