What a mess! Me, not Marilyn. Well, maybe Marilyn, too. I remember what I felt like this hungover morning when my friend Artie picked me up (at the Chateau Marmont, if you please, which has seen its fair share of hangovers and overdoses) and kindly took me on a tour of the must-see spots in Los Angeles and environs. By the time we got to Venice Beach later that afternoon, I was back to normal. Or whatever normal was in those days. And ready to start in all over again. The past.
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