Word: evening
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Dates: during 1960-1969
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...Pennsylvania Avenue, all the birds had taken refuge in one particular tree where they were setting off a tremendous racket. Suddenly, the crowd, which until then had been chanting walk, walk, now began to yell to each other not to go under that tree. And one girl sighed winsomely, "Even the birds are crying." Even? No, only...
Finally, a bus came along. Joyously, I forked over the thirty-two cents that I had carefully reserved for just such a contingency earlier in the day. I was pleased with my foresightedness, because in D.C. you have to have exact change and even a streetfighter has to face reality every now and again...
...they were voting for us. That was the only rationale for wasting an hour talking with a suburban housewife or trying to cajole a guy that you knew was an implacable racist into voting for Gene. All the time we had been nothing but walking advertisements, not always even aware of the dishonesty at the very soul of our campaign. Why else did we try to dress hassled but neat, and always make an effort to appear ever so friendly...
...here I was, wearing a pair of jeans whose zipper was broken, as well as a jacket that didn't quite fit, and looking just as objectionable as I possibly could. Perhaps, after all, streetfighting was a pretty good deal-at least, it allowed for an indulgence that even the new politics couldn't accommodate...
Gradually, I began to wish that the three of us did not look quite so disreputable. Even though I was carrying a typewriter and suitcase, there was little, reason to believe that any law-and-ordered citizen would give us a lift. We walked for about an hour. It wasn't until two in the morning, that we'd realized that we had made a wrong turn somewhere. (Not a meta -physical statement, that.) Instead of being already half asleep on the floor of somebody's house, here we were half asleep on Canal Road, an almost-highway, surrounded...