Page 32 - Contrast1971Spring

"Usually more than this, people are kinda quiet this morning."
"Why, though?"

"Do you mean why they're quiet this morning or why there's so much noise period?"
"Why there is so much noise," he asked. "It seems to serve no purpose. Do you enjoy
it?" he had a serious look on his face, but his words were like taunts.
"Oh you get used to it after a While.. The noise is only bad out on the street. Once you
get inside you can shut it out."
"Really? What does it solve."
"It's quiet anyway, inside."
"Oh. "
Somehow, I lost the argument.
By this time we were traveling -through the Bronx and I was relating the all useless
little bits of information to the people. They eat 'em up. Every once and a while you'd see
some poor little tyke wandering around on the street. The guy would shake his head and look
sad. At least he had a heart.

When we got to the village, I let the group out to wander among the inhabitants.
It always gives them a thrill to see "a real live Hippie." My friend didn't seem to be interested
in the same things as everyone else, namely whispering about the hair and clothes of the
characters. He was more interested in admiring the stores and talking to people on the street.
He seemed to have no mhibitions about starting conversations and could keep one going.
Given two weeks, I could have turned him into a guide or a politician.

He was interested in the way the hippies lived and what they thought. One hippie
was grooving on a bench with a joint in his hand when the guy went over to him to talk.
The hippie looked at him and held out the joint.

"Want some?"
"What is it?" God he was dumb.
"Grass man. It helps with everyting."
"What does it do'?"

"Like it helps you see yourself. To see other people for what they are. It makes you
close. You groove."

"All that?"·

"And more, and more. This ain't nothing to acid. With that you see and know every-
thing. The whole universe is in your hand. Would you?"