There he was, driving up in his 1963 , I can’t believe it is still running, beaten up, trashed, orange rusted out Volvo. He looked like something out of a magazine, maybe a movie. Hair spiked straight up, long trench coat, old worn black boots. Despite his eccentricity, he is always the smartest person in the room, end of story. I’m surprised he didn’t become some kind of scientist. Do something important with his life, but here he is, all day, everyday.

CraNo one really knows his story; even what part of town he lives in. I guess people just aren’t’ curious, well I am. There he was shuffling his chips, barely peeking at his cards, talking as minimal as possible. You can just feel the judgment when he looks at you, sizing you up, palpable intimidation rolls off him like sweat. He is such a mystery to me.

In LA you get lots of characters coming through here, but he was different. He wasn’t crazy, despite his reputation. But who really knows anything about him. That is it. Looking at the ceiling, feeling ambitious, I said to myself… I have to know about him!