There was a version of Hollywood most people never saw.

Late 80s into the 90s.
Street level. No filter.

Punks, skins, alleyways, apartments that never really slept.
Nights that bled into mornings.

The Rock Shop. The Orchid apartments.

Not a place for polite stiffs.
This was underground Hollywood.

I was just a kid moving through it.
Right in the middle of all of that shit.

Met a lot of people back then.
Some gone. Some locked away. Some just… disappeared.

One of the regulars around that scene was El Duce from The Mentors.

Loud. Drunk. Unpredictable.
Always talking out the bottle.

One night outside the shop, we crossed paths.

We were slamming beers.
Locked hands. Said what’s up.

Then he looked at me and said
Courtney Love offered him 50 grand
to blow Kurt Cobain’s head off.

I thought he was fuckin nuts.

That was the kind of shit you’d hear in that world.

Not long after, Kurt was gone.

I’m not here to prove anything.
Not here to push a narrative.

Just logging a moment from a time and place
that was a lot different than people think.