In 1964, just as I turned 21, I moved to London. Looking for a place to live, I remember seeing the ads saying, “No Jews.” I rented a bed sitter, one room with a bed, a table, and a few chairs. It was close to Paddington Station.

My days were taken up with writing poetry and exploring London. I sent some of my poems to Allen Ginsburg, whom I knew from my hippie days hanging out at the Blue Unicorn. In researching for my book, The Flight of the Wild Duck, I was shocked to discover that he had kept my poems, which are now in a collection of his papers at Stanford University.

In addition to me, the building housed five families from Nigeria. All of us in the building shared the kitchen and bathroom. My room had a heater that required ten pence coins to operate. It took me a little time to figure out how to get around that to have all the heat I needed. The hot water in the kitchen and the bathroom also required coins. I did not hack those units. I did not cook there and took baths at my Uncle Joe’s apartment. Once each week, I had what I thought of as my “weekly treat.” I took the Tube to Oxford Station to buy a Sunday paper. Then, I went into one of the stalls in the men’s room, which required a coin to use. I could take my time while I did my “business,” reading the newspaper. It was lovely not to worry about one of my Nigerian neighbors knocking on the bathroom door.

My next stop would be Speakers Corner at Hyde Park. There I would listen to the people ranting about different topics, from religion to politics. One day, I met two American girls my age, and we stuck up a conversation. They told me they had a car and wanted to buy some hashish and asked me if I would help them. They were scared to go on their own. So I agreed. They stayed in the car while I entered a building in a pretty seedy part of London. The people living there were from somewhere in Africa. After making the purchase, I returned to the car, and we drove to my place. By this time, it was early afternoon. I don’t remember eating anything, but I do remember smoking the hash with these two girls. Frankly, I had some thoughts about this all ending up with the three of us having sex. But after a while, I realized they were a couple, and there was no room for me. After they left, I wrote a poem about the experience.