In 1968 after one year of living together, my girlfriend and I split up as did Courtney and Bill. I guess it was a pretty good thing after all that I was not a young parent: not so much for my sake, but for that of the child. No one involved would have had any kind of reasonable life.
As we were all contemplating going our own ways, Arthur suddenly reappeared on the scene.
One year of living in San Francisco as a flower child had cured him of the romance associated with having a low paying job, living in a roach infested flat, and running around with a group of air headed friends who had nothing better to offer than to chant mantras in a community park, get high on drugs, paint their faces, wear 1880’s clothing, protest the war, talk to plants, wave the peace…
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