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At dinner last night he told me of his impending death of AIDS in the Chelsea Hotel. I thought of the few months that I worked for him and how much I admired his minimal lifestyle. He had one pair of jeans and one white button-down cotton shirt which he kept perfectly pressed. He had no material possessions except his gallery which was located in the tiniest storefront in Soho -- oh and he also had this black poodle that followed him everywhere, I was fifteen when I got turned on to marijuana. Finally there was marijuana: Wow! Marijuana! Me and a friend of mine went up into the hills with two joints the San Francisco foothills and smoked these joints and just got so high and laughed and roared and went skipping down the streets doing funny things and just having a helluva time. It was great it was just what I wanted it was the perfect it was -- and that wine thing was so awful and this marijuana;