This track always gets me, because it encapsulates the feeling of living in LA so damn well. Too many freakin' chihuahuas in that town.
As an allegory for Wait's personal life, it always cracks me up, because he did exactly that - fled to Northern California to live out the rest of his days outside of Sebastopol on an old farm (where he records most of his music these days) - although I'm uncertain if arson was involved. I often wonder if he's referring to his wild years as the times when he tried to play it straight in the big city before accepting that his own personal "normal" was that of a rural recluse. He pretty much took himself off the circuit after the early 80s.