To those of you who've read one or more drafts of my memoir, or spent any significant amount of time sitting around with me in the pub: you've probably already heard some version of the story that appeared in this space yesterday. Sorry about that, but I figured it was appropriate to tell i again on several grounds: 1) to balance out my lack of sympathy for the Haight Street denizens with the recognition that I've been known to behave just as badly; 2) because there are many readers who wouldn't have heard it before; 3) because I like hearing myself tell stories; and 4) I want to get them straight in my mind before my memory starts to go.
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