I did some weird shit back in those days, too many weird things to describe. But I’ll tell you a couple. I remember one day when I was really paranoid from snorting [cocaine] and staying up all the time. I was driving my Ferrari up West End Avenue and I passed these police-men sitting in a patrol car. They knew me - all of them knew me in my neighbourhood - so they spoke to me. When I got about two blocks away from them, I became paranoid and thought that there was a conspiracy to get me, bust me for some drugs. I look down in the compartment on the door and see this white powder. I never took coke out of the house with me. It’s winter and snowing and some snow got inside the car. But I didn’t realise that; I thought it was some coke that someone had planted in the car just so I could get busted. I panicked, stopped the car in the middle of the street, ran into a building on West End Avenue, looked for the doorman, but he wasn’t there. I ran to the elevator and got on and went up to the seventh floor and hid in the trash room. I stayed up there for hours with my Ferrari parked in the middle of West End Avenue with the keys in it. After a while I came to my senses. The car was still sitting where I had left it.
I did that another time just like that and a woman was on the elevator. I thought that I was still in my Ferrari, so I told her, “Bitch, what are you doing in my goddamn car!” And then I slapped her and ran out of the building. That’s the kind of weird sick shit that a lot of drugs will make you do. She called the police and they arrested me and put me in the nut ward at Roosevelt Hospital for a few days before letting me out“.
From 1975 until 1980, Davis was a self-confessed hermit, living without any meaningful contact with the outside world. He spent his days drinking Heineken and brandy, and taking heroin, cocaine, or injecting speedballs into his legs. A speedball is the lethal combination of cocaine and heroin that killed John Belushi and River Phoenix. Davis also says he “fucked all the women I could get into my house” (p. 325). And through it all, he never once picked up his horn throughout more than four years.
