Hippies came in all stripes and colors. It was a look in the eye, after all, and we knew. Come on in and crash for the night in this ramshackle farm. It’s quite a trip, if you listen to its parade of characters plus the dogs, cats, and chickens. Each circle emits its own unique drumming, overlapping and blending with the others. You remember, don’t you?
In some ways, this cheap living was getting pretty expensive, truly. DL’s job, like Nita’s, often entailed grotesque hours. One weekend he returned to the Ranch at 3 a.m., tiptoed quietly up the stairs, lifted the latch to his door, flipped the switch on, only to be startled by a blonde sleeping in his sheets. Hot-damn, he thought, until he realized she wasn’t sleeping alone. “Excuse me,” he apologized, turned out the light, closed the door, and retraced his steps. DL retrieved his sleeping bag from his car and climbed to the loft in the barn. Four hours later, in a late summer chill, DL awoke from a dream about tractors parading around Columbus Circle in Manhattan in some kind of protest.
To learn more about my novel Hippie Drum, go to my page at Smashwords.com.