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the L.A. Freeway. The rats were winning the race; I had written too many blank checks for too many causes over the years; and I was sleeping with the wrong woman. I took a walk and I have never regretted the long American walk I took in mid-passage. Back in Fun City in '65, a hit-and-run driver found me crossing an icey February street. After one million years went by, I was discharged from the hospital with (among other things) impaired vision. I moved into this ancient caravanserai (our proudest boast is that Eugene O'Neill wrote two of his plays here) behind the Museum of Natural History and Theodore Roosevelt Park. (Or The Museum of Unnatural