It was a vision, brother, another wacky future we would never have, but well worth the conjuring.

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Hanging out in San Francisco was like a crash course in hippieness. It was the real thing, and although the original Haight-Ashbury hippies had declared the “death of hippie” in 1967, complete with an elaborate funeral, it didn’t take. Five years later, the city was still overrun with them, sitting on the steps of sagging Victorians, throwing gutter balls in the bowling alley on Haight Street, working at the pizza joint, reading Blake on the bus, walking bandannaed  dogs in the Panhandle. The thing is, decades aren’t neat. What people think of as the ’60s didn’t really start until the Beatles arrived in 1964 and was still going strong in 1972.

Attempted hippie – David Noonan

janis

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