Harold Lomez had a double wide trailer parked on Riverside Dr. He got an assistant, a TV in his trailer, and seltzer. Betsy Grimes stood outside her regular sized, assistant-less, seltzer-less, trailer looking at Harold’s trailer at midnight in Sherman Oaks. Or Van Nuys. Whatever the fuck. She pulled on a Marlboro Light and the glow lit her classic, somewhat vintage-looking 50s visage that wasn’t super famous but had graced a billboard or two in her time. She looked some more. It’s wrong. Tha...