By Nathaniel Eaton
[PART I, in which the word NAKED is used three times, as well as WHISKEY and CANNONBALLING.]

Mike Garlington, up-and-coming art photographer, calls. His cell phone isn't working so well. Apparently, he stepped on it while having sex.

"You're coming down to L.A. for the big Steven Cohen opening—no questions. We'll road trip, stay at a seedy motel, whiskey drinking. It'll be good for the article, don't worry. What do you say? You got a car?"

Garlington has a posse. A sort of misfit/artist/biker gang of photographers, model types, musicians, writers, all friends, all artists in their own right. One gang member, Damien Kalish, has a stack of cheap white shirts and a big black permanent marker so he can wear his thought of the day. Today's shirt is specially prepared for L.A.: "I want to kill Tom Hanks".

"Tom Hanks represents everything wrong
with our society. He's a celebration of the bland and mundane," Kalish explains.

In the middle of this warm Los Angeles night, the rag tag troupe appears, unannounced, at the door of the Bel Air estate of one of Garlington's big art patrons. They are searching for a cocktail. After initial befuddlement, the doors are swung wide open and Mike and the gang are offered free run of the home, pool, and liquor for five days and nights.

By 4 a.m., neighbors are phoning in noise complaints, naked people are cannon- balling into the pool, and Garlington is gulping Johnny Walker Gold out of a champagne flute while sitting on the stove wearing only his tighty whities. Is our gracious host, the art patron, fazed? Nope, he's right alongside us, smoking a cigar, sucking it all in, it seems, so he can have a great tale to tell his business friends.

Garlington is drunk. And, now, naked. And insisting everybody else gets naked. It takes a lot to satiate him. He'll drink till

Daughter of the Circus, by Michael Garlington
the alcohol is finished. He's loud and confrontational, crass and honest. And joyous. An earnest little kid who wants everyone to come out and play with him, but whose temper changes by the second. He'll have one of the girls in tears, while showing great concern if the rest of us aren't having a great time.

Natalie, a friend along for the ride, watch-
es all this from the hot tub. "It's like that Frida Kahlo quote about Diego Rivera's boorish behavior," she says. "'He's just the way he is. I can't love him any other way.'"

Garlington has me documenting the depravity of the night with a point-and- shoot digital camera. "Just knowing these pictures exist sort of creates a myth about

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