The Billy James Underground
Richard Goldstein, The Village Voice, 3 August 1967
HE CRUISES along the Freeway out of Los Angeles in an open Rolls, the kind that used to have upholstery and windows. His young son Mark wraps himself in blankets against the speed, and before the ride is over they are shivering in the middle of summer in the middle of Southern California. Mark smells something smoky and sure enough it is a fire under his feet. He stomps it out. Sooner or later, the car chugs to a halt at a cottage in the middle of Topanga Canyon.
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