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The trouble with San Fransisco was that I could never have a future in that city, only a past.
Certain women in jail and prison make rules for everyone else, and the woman insisting on quiet was on of those. If you follow their rules, they make more rules. You have to fight people or you end up with nothing.
You can’t believe anything people say. But what they say is all you have.
When I was little I saw a cover of an old magazine that showed the robes and feet of people who had drunk the Kool-Aid Jim Jones handed out in Guyana. My entire childhood I would think of that image and feel bad. I once told Jimmy Darling and he said it wasn't actually Kool-Aid. It was Hi-C.
What kind of person would want to clarify such a thing?