Jim Morrison and Peggy Green

According to http://www.beauxartsbook.com/People/Morrison/morrison.html Jimmy and Peggy dated circa 1964-1965, in L.A., California. Peggy moved from Florida.
Peggy speaks: "The first time we met, we didn’t speak at least not out loud. It was at the troubadour bar, probably Monday when all the world seemed to gather there. I was w/ friends, though I could not tell you whom. I absolutely do not recall. Possibly a woman named Sally, who had recently moved to la from England and was working at Thee Experience along w/ her friend Joann Tripp. Joann was married to Artie Tripp of Captain Beefheart. These were two people who knew how to have a good time. Jim was there w/ Tom Baker, two mad Irishmen that should never have been allowed out together w/out a keeper. Anyhow, Tom was very chatty that night and struck up a conversation w/ us. Jim was silent and sullen, all the things I found irresistable in a man, back then. (I have seriously revised that thinking or lack of thinking). He never said a word to any of us but instead seemed almost amused by the troubadour interactions between the sexes. At some point either they left or we left, who knows? I was a goner from that point on and from that point on we seemed to run into each other everywhere. Suddenly he’d turn up at Thee Experience and just as suddenly vanish.
A few days later a group of the Whisky servers came down to Thee Exp. after hours for breakfast. Someone said there was a party in Bel Air and we were invited. My friend Jacki and some others that worked w/ us decided to go and sure as I walked in the door, there was Jim. That night we talked for a long time, about both being from Florida and how we needed to stick together. We didn’t stick together however, we went our separate ways again. Back to the club and night after night he’d show up w/ his friend, Frank. We’d talk a little, same result. The truth is we were both really shy in a time when shyness was not prevalent. Our next encounter was at a party in one of those interminable Hollywood courtyards w/ look a like bungalows. I have no idea who’s party or why I happened to be there, but there was always a party back then, wasn’t there? again I was w/ Jacki and again Jim was w/ Frank. This was the night that we actually began whatever it was that we had."
“I used to go out with Jim Morrison when I first got to L.A. Anybody from Hollywood wouldn`t think it was any big deal, but I have had some people insinuate that I made it up-- that I was lying. Morrison was just one of us, another Hollywood resident, so to speak. My sister and I met the Doors the first week we arrived in L.A. They were playing at the London Fog. We had tried to get in the Whisky earlier that night, but Dixie didn’t have an ID, so we walked a few doors down and tried to get into London Fog. They had no problem letting us in, probably because the place was dead and they needed the business. The Doors weren`t that well-known yet. Their popularity came shortly afterward, though--within a year."
“Then there was the night on delongpre that Morrison got my dog drunk. Then there was the night of one of those delongpre parties that I threw Bonzi the notorious roadie who never left home w/out his whip, down the stairs. Then there was the day that Morrison decided my bunny could not be named Petrice but Fucker and then he decided to set him free in that little park just above Franklin by the Frank Lloyd Wright house. Oh and yes, that apartment is where ode to Brian Jones while thinking of la was written one very hazy summer day in 1969 and Marsha Brevitz brought her son Michael over to meet Jim who spent the afternoon showing Michael how to spear pickles from a jar in the worlds smallest kitchen.”
“As I read on it appears we "knew" too many of the same people.
I also lived w/ Denny on Harper. Spent too many nights crying over Morrison and more than some in sublime, stupid happiness. Chas chandler, I first met in Miami where he put his foot through the floor of my mothers Chevy. We need to talk!”
"Lots of strange stuff went down almost nightly at the Whisky. I saw Jim Morrison puke all over my girl friend, Kay, back by the restrooms after she called him a ‘cocksuckin` old has-been’. Later that night Jim was hanging over the balcony when the lights came on at the Whisky screaming obscenities about God and "his fucking son." The tourists were clamoring for the front door. And even later, as we were piling into John Mahall`s Mustang, I noticed Morrison was out in the parking lot still cursing and yelling. I felt sorry for him and asked Kay if we could take him with us to Leon`s where we were headed, but she had just been puked on, and was pissed! We figured he could destroy Leon`s studio and equipment, so we left him there. That was the last time I ever saw Morrison alive”.