We used to live right by The Hollywood's Largest Toyshop. The entire time we lived in Hollywood, we didn't have a car. We walked everywhere.

Eric Pitsenbarger's new book, "Beaujolais in My Blood."

Photo by Thomas Schworer I grew up in a cloud of my father’s cigar smoke, listening to the tapping sounds from his Corona typewriter, the loud zipping from the return carriage. He smoked cigars constantly, except when he slept, or studied at the public library, Sante Fe High Grade, which came fifty cigars in a box with a lid. He kept extra cigars, the fat kind, overflowing in his shirt pocket with his lighter and several pens. He could go days without regular sleep, with no a