Frank settled out in the Valley and he hung his wild years on a nail that he drove through his ex-wife's forehead. He sold used office furniture out there on San Fernando Road and assumed a $30,000 loan at 15 1/4 % 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 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... then Frank put on a top forty station got on the Hollywood Freeway headed north
Never could stand that dog