Frank settled down in the Valley,

and he hung his wild years on a

nail that he drove through his

wife's forehead.



He sold used office furniture out

there on San Fernando Road and

assumed a $30,000 loan at

15 14 % and put a down payment

on a little two bedroom place.



His wife was a spent piece of used jet trash

Made good bloody-marys, kept her mouth

shut most of the time, had a little Chihuahua

named Carlos that had some kind of skin

disease and was totally blind.



They had a thoroughly modern kitchen;

self-cleaning oven (the whole bit)

Frank drove a little sedan.

They were so happy.



One night Frank was on his way home

from work, stopped at the liquor store,

picked up a couple of Mickey's Big Mouths.

Drank 'em in the car on his way to the

Shell station; he got a gallon of gas in a can.



Drove home, doused everything in

the house, torched it.

Parked across the street laughing,

watching it burn, all Halloween

orange and chimney red.



Frank put on a top forty station,

got on the Hollywood Freeway

headed North.



Never could stand that dog.