Though Boaz had found me out as the wimp I was, I still had the edge on Tony Shur, and one day, during the first week of Fairfax, I had Tony in a headlock, delivering him a “noogie” (an act of grinding your knuckles into the top of your victim’s head until they beg for mercy). A crazy-looking kid ran up, he was sturdy and muscular, with a flattop haircut. NOBODY, except an old man with his belt up above his belly button, had a fucking flattop in 1976 Los Angeles. His intense eyes bore into me. He said, “Lay off him.” He was a new kid that Tony had befriended: Anthony Kiedis. Anthony was
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