Sarah Of The Moon by Randy Mixter Read Free Book Online

park in search of women. They decided to let Chick make the call.
    “As I’ve told you many times before, guys outnumber the girls here two to one, not that it would make much difference to the two of you.”
    Rather than take offense at Chick’s subtle dig, they both nodded their heads in agreement and joined the two on the trek to Haight Street.
    “We’ll stop at In Gear first. Sometimes they accept clothing donations which they discount considerably.” Chick looked at Alex. “You got cash on you?”
    “Yes,” he said, although he was not excited about a grooming by Chick, whose tattered attire would have elicited shrieks of horror from most anyone he knew.
    “I need to find a pay phone too,” Alex added. “I have to call home and the paper.”
    “Finding a phone booth is not a problem, finding a working phone is,” Chick replied.
    By the time they reached Haight Street, Skip and Benny had worked out a strategy for obtaining marijuana and, after some heartfelt words of good luck from Chick, the two headed off into the sea of carefree humanity.
    Chick thought this would be a good time to explain the behavior of his two friends and the free spirit culture in general.
    “Many of the regulars here, like Skip and Benny, get money sent to them by parents and relatives. The loved ones mean well, but most of the mailed cash goes to pot and acid. Almost everything else here can be found for free if you look hard enough.”
    They had entered Haight Street and the throngs of multi-colored, carefree humanity.
    “Although I prefer the term nonconformists, many here consider themselves hippies. Most are not. The true believers feel they can change the mindset of the establishment. We believe in the possibility of a utopian existence, a lifestyle free of hate and bias. Drugs are incidental to that philosophy, as is free love.”
    Alex and Chick pushed through the sidewalks, crowded almost exclusively by young people. A transistor radio in an open shop door appropriately played a song about wearing flowers in your hair if going to San Francisco.
    “Another faction you’ll find here are the pretenders, the weekend hippies,” Chick continued. “They are almost entirely males who think this a nirvana for drugs and free love. They usually do not last long. The girls are in short supply and, despite the assumptions, most are quite choosy of their male companions. Even with the abundance of drugs, the pretenders usually bore quickly and head out for greener pastures, like the Sunset Strip, where the pickings are easier.”
    They had arrived at the In Gear shop, but Chick, who was on a roll, stopped at the door.
    “You also have the locals, workers, and college students, who put on their beads and peace signs and join us here on the weekends. The college students, in particular, are of a radical state of mind and cause much friction with the cops and the establishment in general. You will not find any pretenders in our house. We are all believers.”
    Alex started for the door, thinking he was finished, but Chick stopped him with a hand on his shoulder.
    “You might think that is a stop-off point between adolescence and maturity, but its not. This is a kingdom for the righteous, and those who believe in their cause. It will always be a place of optimism for the future. It may not be Camelot, but it’s the best we’ve got right now.” Then Chick led the way into the store.
     
    When they left the shop an hour or so later, Alex had a backpack containing his binder, two pairs of pants, three shirts, a black vest, and a pair of lightweight black boots that zipped up a couple of inches above the ankle. He was thirty-two dollars and change lighter in the wallet.
    Chick had at first pleaded with him to purchase some billowy, multi-colored shirts and slacks, but Alex had politely refused. It was finally decided that he slowly transition himself into a flower child by emulating the dress seen on a shop poster of a Los Angeles rock