400k wds, some neologisms. Story of a young bohemian bawn and bred in the briar patch that lay between the borders of St. Elvis Era and the Eleusinian Feels of alternity.
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           "Hey, uh, I'm not inclined to be paranoid or nothing, but do you think we should be smoking that in the open like this?"
          "Sure man. We can see the cops long fore they see us, them being in a car and all. Besides, all's I got's a coupla joints. We can eat them up pretty quick if there's any trouble."
           "Yeah, but everybody can see us. One of those sweet little old ladies might just decide to do her civic duty and sic the FBI on us."
           "I doubt it. Most of them are so scared of any guy with long hair they're afraid to even look at us hard. Besides, those little old ladies don't see too well anyways."
           "Yeah, but what about all the fucking businessmen in the building behind us? They can see perfectly well what we're doing."
           "Naw they cain't. Oh sure, they can see a coupla hippies sitting on the bench smoking something, but they cain't see what. Most of them don't give a shit anyways. Too busy figuring out how to screw each other."
          "Well, I just don't feel comf'table 'bout it. Not after what happened to Dave's wife."
 "Dave's wife? Janet? Did she get busted? I didn't hear anything about it!"
 "Well she did. They came looking for him and found her there. Beat her so bad she had a miscarriage. Then they charged her with creating a disturbance and resisting arrest. All cause she ast 'em for a warrant."
           "Sheee-it! Those sonsabitches! Those sonsacocksuckin bitches!"
           "So that's what can happen, see. Shit man, they beat the crap outa me and all's I's doing was chanting to a tree!"
           "Yeah, at three a.m. on a Sunday morning in some fatcat's front yard. You were making waves, man. Same thing Dave was doing, what with all his letters to the editor and shit. You just lie low and be a harmless bohemian like me and they don't give a shit."
           "Look, man, the CIA got a poison now all's they gotta do is touch a guy with it and twenty minutes later he's dead a coronary with no trace. A fucking doctor can't tell it from the real thing."
           "No shit?"
           "Hey, there was a reporter once, had a friend in the CIA. The guy was giving him a tour of the Agency computer complex. CIA guy said, 'Gimme your social security number, man.'
           "'Reporter said, 'You're fulla shit. I ain't giving you no damn social security number.'
           "Fella said, 'Naw, naw, don't worry about it. We already got it. I mean, I could punch the motherfucker up now but it's easier if you just give it to me.'Â
