On a hill overlooking Hollywood, a musty, turreted old Gothic house broods amid mist and smog. The traveler who reaches the lonely relic stands damply in a small reception hall presided over by a surly owl with satanically gleaming eyes. But there is no apparent way for the new arrival to get out of the room. Then the receptionist makes a quiet suggestion: a few words, perhaps "Open sesame!", to the owl? The visitor speaks, and, lo, the innocent-looking bookcase near the bird swings open, revealing a crowded bar. The visitor is...
To continue reading:
or
Log-In
