I STOP IN FOR A BURGER at Theosophy's to go and hold the onions because if I want to be getting close to Patty I better smell like a man and not a soup. Double date and I'm the driver.
Patty's hippie friends aren't so bad. I'm straight because I have to be to look so sly but they're passing a joint in the back seat and I don't mind because all my papers are in order. If the cops ask I'm just the chauffeur. I said it once when stopped for slightly speeding and it worked, and Carol laughed all the way to the beach. It'd be a weird feeling having a piece in the glove compartment. But if I get it registered then it's my constitutional right.
There's a cold clenching of a speed freak's jaw near Golden Gate Park, some pervert out from Philly after all the free chicks thought he'd score but didn't when sticking his hand up the skirt of a dope pusher's old lady and instead of her happy butt he found a pound of leafy green. That's what I catch at the ever-photogenic corner of Haight and Ashbury.