I longed to see the lair of the mysterious Dr. Castillo. Where he gave “treatments.†There was no end to the maladies for which one could be treated-while there were many fine physicians in Los Angeles, of course, every quack and quacklet was quick to advertise instant relief from piles, fistulae, nervousness, abscesses, alcoholism, insanity, varicose veins-and while the strange drugs were bad enough, one has to wonder at the claims made for “drugless therapies†which, we can only surmise, involved bathtubs somehow. Like at 480. So I set off.
I got to 450, 460-and then a Burger King parking lot. And then the Burger King.
