The first Central Park Human Be-In took place at the end of March that year. I went up and took a look. It felt strained. People were standing around looking at each other and some of them were wearing little bells on their clothes. There was pot smoking.
It had been summer when he arrived in Perth. He had never been cooped up in a plane for so long. The eighteen hours to Sydney had been followed by a flight across a continent with a population only slightly larger than that of the Netherlands, though it was nearly as big as the United States.
I make a diaper out of plastic wrap and ask Haywood to wear it, but he won’t.
They were driving south on Route 13 through Maryland and Virginia when a blond shirtless young man appeared with his thumb in the air on the side of the road. Elizabeth guided the car onto a strip of gravel fifty yards ahead of where he was standing, rested her arms on the steering wheel, and stared at his figure in the rearview mirror.
Let us hear another story of Woodchuck. One day in his travels Woodchuck saw a man whose western shirt was drenched in blood streaming also from his mouth. In his teeth were small clumps of flesh and gore. It was Hank Williams Zombie.