It was an overcast day as I negotiated the narrow broken streets of Hollywood. I thought Tinsel Town had lost its luster until I spied a portly gent in a stained Buster Keaton t-shirt. I quickly parked my ride and hoofed it up to the Roosevelt Hotel. My heart raced like a three-year-old filly in heat with a hopped up jockey on her back. Once I hit the lobby, I felt right at home.Details
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