2 March 2003 | Vol. 3, No. 1

Double Lanes

by PAUL CORMAN ROBERTS

Near the old Jefferson Airplane mansion, in back of a cab on the right side, drunk on more than wine, I'm looking over at the sedan next to us. The passenger is the stellar blonde replica of a porn star/exotic dancer of some repute. I vow for once in my life to not look away, to hold a gaze for once, should it come around, and it does, oh yes, it does because this is