An Even Bigger Butterfly, Part 4 or so.
After drowning my considerable sorrows in caffeine, I hit the streets of my beloved Elm City. In no time, I had uncovered an opium den, a white-slavery ring, and several varieties of Papist pedophiles.
Then I left Yale, and made my way to three liquor stores. Having filled the Oldsmobeast with alcohol (a fairly commonplace sight in those days), I sped home to prepare The Pit for company.
I will wax nostalgic, and you will indulge me. The Pit was my bedroom from 1987-1994. A converted basement rec room, it was part speakeasy, part command center, part swingers' club, part fashion disaster, part rehearsal space, part ready room, part pub, and all mine. I loved it, and if such things were possible, it loved me right back.
The 25x15 foot space was adorned in movie, rock, or comic book posters, and an entire wall was dedicated to Playmates (this was mainly for my friends, in all honesty; I preferred the notion of live girls.) My pride and joy was a 6x4 poster of Jimi Hendrix. (For any of you who follow such things, that means the poster was bigger than Jimi himself.) There was a fully functional wet bar, TV, VCR, stereo, discrete escape hatch from the adjacent back room, and a waterbed the size of a Buick.
In short, it was Heaven, and soon there would come a host of inebriated angels, all singing its praises.