Seems like Sharon and I always talk about old times. Like when we see each other we go right back to Freshman Week at Howard when they marched us to the chapel in black dresses to take an oath by candlelight that made us officially Howard women. And how you had to come in for curfew at eight o’clock when it was still light outside and you could look right out the dorm window and watch the switching sophomores swoop on the brother you hoped would wink at you. I remember all the politics in D.C., traditional and non-traditional. I remember the counter-inaugural me and Kris went to that ended up a muddy mess no matter how much hay they threw down to soak up the puddles of rain. I remember two white boys offering us “a quarter for a dance and a cigarette for a screw.” I remember two shadowy brothers who offered grass guaranteed to “open up your head.” I remember old Phil Ochs singing anti-war songs while we sat on some bales of hay, smelling the reefer in the air so thick you could float up above the crowd on your own if you breathed long enough and deep enough. And what did President Johnson think about it? No cops came. They had bribed the God of Rain so why did they need cops? Ain’t nobody gonna riot when the mud is up to your knees!
Old times. New times will have to come later. Peace!