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I was seated across from him at his desk. He put his feet up on the desk in my face. He was not going to give me my money back. He was young, early twenties without an ounce of manners or honor. I assumed he was not so stupid as to be oblivious of his footsies, and considered it a particularly lowly and uncouth tactic to intimidate me. Well I was not, but there was no refund without the resort of a shotgun. So I had to back out of there.
I don't remember how the Powers Street house came about. I remember the real estate company office, on the west side of Mission, between Valencia and 29th. It may have been posted in the window and there is the possibility that it was spotted by Sonoma, as she used to walk down there or myself for that matter. The office was really fifties, as all of this part of the Mission was in those days, D.A. haircuts, suits and white papers, with a boss looking like an old fat worried hen. So I signed up.
Well Sonoma could have gotten me the house. I really don't remember. She was an operator. She had been a big time secretary back east, for her age in her teens, but jumped in her Opel mobile called Tweety Bird, went to the west coast somewhere, and teamed up with Oregon bound hippie homesteaders. When we all three, Ford, her and myself were living at Winfield, she wanted to work at a shop down the hill on Mission Street that embalmed animals. Yes we thought very strange. May have been her fascination with owls. She had an owl fetish. She could get all excited about the Owl Drug-store, which I believe was at Market and Golden Gate.
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