Gershwin learned to c***k safes from a man named Carter Crane, who lived in Los Angeles, in a large bungalow halfway up a mountain. Carter was tall and thin and had shoulder-length blonde hair. He was in his thirties and had a young wife who was pregnant. They ate organic food and grew their own vegetables and drank ten glasses of water a day and meditated on mats in their backyard and instead of sitting on chairs while they ate their meals, sat on blue exercise balls.
For Gershwin, the experience was altogether different than what he’d experienced at Swift and Son. This was less because of the Cranes’ lifestyle and more because they were kind. Weirdly kind. And their weirdness came from the excessiveness of their kindness toward him, as if the three of them had enjoyed a pre-existing clo
