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" If you learn where someone lives, you can start to make good guesses as to their culture. The closer to the road, the more connected they were to conventional reality.

"Honey, they don't have an address, and they're not on a road," Darlene moved to the living room sofa, and I followed. I had visited many communes in my younger days, and everyone had a personality ranging from boring to batshit crazy. "Fifty miles give or take," she leaned into me as she sat next to me. We were friends back in college." "What kind of friends?

Through the process of elimination, we had become drinking buddies at our local tavern. More often than not, we were the last people still standing when the barkeep bellowed out, "Last call for alcohol! The tavern, built in the 1890s, featured a Walnut and Mahogany bar with an odd little ' L' shaped hook at the far corner of the saloon.

The bar and a back wall of brick formed a naturally cozy alcove large enough to accommodate three bar stools. Darlene's field of viable targets was limited unless she lowered her standards or went in for a threesome.

A homeless Vietnam Veteran becomes the accidental prisoner of an all-woman survivalist community hidden deep in the Rocky Mountains.

The Society of Sisters at Liberty Mountain has chosen to live in a world without men.

Thirst quenched for the moment, Darlene resumed her quest for tonight's bed partner. The rubber checks set up a cascading overdraft chain reaction.Her second expedition of seduction ended in bewildered frustration. I usually have to beat men off with a stick," shaking her head in disgust, she demolished another White Russian. Darlene's rent check went south, along with about 25 or 30 personal checks and ATM transactions; each bad check racked up a bank charge, -30 in returned check merchant fees, and her account soon was bleeding red ink by several thousand dollars."Maybe you should offer to beat them off with a stick, you know, fifty shades of kinky? The certified letter ordering our eviction was the last straw.They might let us stay with them." Any group holding its own for fifteen years might be an answer to our current housing crisis, it depended on the depth of the batshit. "Okay, you've got my attention," I gave her a kiss, "Tell me everything you know. " We talked until there was no more to say, "Stay or go. Do you want to give them a try - at least for a few weeks? Living as amateur survivalists, her friends occupied an off-the-grid cabin located somewhere in the Rocky Mountains about 250 miles west of Denver.The more I thought about it, the better it sounded.

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According to local legend, the original owner ordered the hook's construction to allow him to observe activities of untrustworthy bartenders behind the bar while also keeping an eye on equally untrustworthy patrons. Hell, she flirted with everyone: Men, women, and even the bartender's mangy tomcat. I pitied the lucky guy who won Darlene's attention.