I wrote this down in an old journal of mine. It’s from an interview with Michael Hurley. I think it’s perfect.
I wandered in NYC and hung out in the village. I was interested in Beatniks because they didn’t have to go to school and got to drink wine and they were cool. After awhile, of course, I began to see through all this and went back on the rural route where I lived in a tepee in our own hipster campground. We called it the Cook Camp. I had this girlfriend I’d met in Greenwich Village when we were working for the same music agent and promoter, the African American Peter Outlaw. My girlfriend, I called her Pasta. When winter came about we rented a small house in Lambertville, New Jersey for $25.00 per month. Pasta got a job as a waitress in The New Hope Diner, a steel joint. I bought a 1951 Plymouth station wagon and picked apples in a Bucks County orchard. In my ’51 Plymouth I’d go and pick up Pasta when she got off work in the middle of the night. She’d be dressed in her white waitress dress. Neither of us had any idea of how beautiful we were. We didn’t know that they should have been making a movie about us, but at the time they didn’t know either. We drew practically no attention at all. Except every once in awhile some weirdo would hit on Pasta. But she was so tough and savage that she would teach them to leave her alone. We smoked cigarettes. I have no idea what we would be talking about as we drove by the highway side (4), but I believe she loved me like a woman who wants to have babies would. Her white waitress dress had a small red polyester bib in the front. She wore red lipstick. Her hair was black.
