When hippies are busted for smuggling hash in Mexico, they are sentenced to 27 years in jail. When one of these hippies is a Jewish princess, she calls up daddy, who flies down with the many thousands necessary to grease the Mexican legal system, and in three months or so she is back in the USA, trying to capitalize on her experience. Nadler talks a good deal about the butterflies that flew outside her hospital window (she got typhoid fever in prison), but says nothing about how she felt abandoning her lover and partner in the Mexican jail where he may remain for thirty years. Most offensive are the author's glib claims to self-realization and reconciliation with her family: the only ""betrayed hope"" was that of making a fast buck illegally, without effort; there is little of the parents (apart from their money); and Nadler herself dreamt, not of revolution, but higher highs. The book ends just before the author gets out of jail, at a time when she might have to start cooking and cleaning for herself, and maybe even earning some money. The writing has the frenzied pace, chronological confusion, and (dis)organization of books transcribed from the tape recorder. A frivolous apologia.