smoky dance-halls, the meeting places of thieves, spivs and prostitutes.

epub or mobi, with thanks to the original sharer

He got to know a blonde hostess with whom he fell in love. For days on end he was away from his room in Montmartre, his wife and his monkey. The strange new life he led with her had effects that were as enduring as they were beneficial. In the space of a few months, he acquired an elegant bearing, decided to dress in the approved manner. Soon, though, he was back in his little room in the Place Emile-Goudeau, back with his wife and monkey.  Those Montmartre hotel rooms! The foreigner who frequents Gay Paree sees only the blazing neon signs along the Rue Pigalle, the social round, money flowing as freely as champagne, the women who hang about street-corners, the dance-halls, the dancers. But like those of Marseille, or any other town, the Montmartre hotel rooms are small and square, their flowered or striped wallpaper torn in places. A yellow or red satin eiderdown covers the bed; net curtains hang drearily down each side of the window, through which more dust than light comes in. The faded covers are flecked with cigarette burns. The enormous cupboard holds all the tenant’s belongings and in a shady corner a screen masks off the washbasin.

“The thing about him is that Elvis doesn’t care. He doesn’t give a fuck."

epub or mobi, with thanks to the original sharer

Between 1963 and 1965, the chimpanzee was very much a part of the Memphis Mafia. Elvis bought him for a couple of hundred bucks. He was a funny little dude. He learned how to dress himself and we had these little suits and ties for him. He learned to do a lot of other things, with Presley’s patient training. He had a dreadful habit of molesting himself in front of ladies, particularly when he had a few drinks. Man, old Scatter was a damn alcoholic. Never stopped drinking. He would get drunk and start going crazy, doing flips all over the house and yelling like a madman. One day when he had had too much to drink, he completely ruined the entire telephone system in the house. It took the telephone repairman three days to fix it. Presley had another little prank, He would dress the chimp in his Sunday best and then put him in the back seat of the Rolls-Royce. A chauffeur-driven rock ’n’ roll singer was bad enough, but a chauffeur-driven monkey? Disgraceful!