In the late sixties New Brunswick was a crumbling city, beset by oppressive financial woes. Until Johnson and Johnson rescued it by building its international headquarters in the downtown area, thus gentrifying the main thoroughfares almost overnight, signs of economic and social decay could be seen almost everywhere. Storefronts were boarded up and streaked with urine; the streets were often littered with trash and respectable businesses found themselves being crowded out by porno theaters, adult book stores and go-go bars. I frequently made deliveries to the latter, which enabled me to see a little skin in the course of my daily activities. I might have been emotionally bereft, but I wasn't dead, and I was, after all, eighteen years old, so I confess to being pleased when I saw a go-go b
