Word: stickering
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...West Virginia, they passed a law absolving police in advance of guilt in any riot deaths. In Minneapolis they elected a police detective to be mayor. Everywhere, they flew the colors of assertive patriotism. Their car windows were plastered with American-flag decals, their ideological totems. In the bumper-sticker dialogue of the freeways, they answered MAKE LOVE NOT WAR with HONOR AMERICA or SPIRO IS MY HERO. They sent Richard Nixon to the White House and two teams of astronauts to the moon. They were both exalted and afraid. The mysteries of space were nothing, after all, compared with...
...quite drunken merry-makers of the 1948 clubbie vintage. One of them was marching around the lot sounding a rand-held air raid siren in car windows. Another passed from car to car with a rubber chicken in a pot. Suddenly one of the revelers ripped a peace sticker from my bumper and pasted it across my front windshield. A take-off on the jingoism of "love it or leave it," the sticker read "America-save it or screw it." I got out of my car to talk with the prankster and a crowd formed. One over-thirtyish girl said...
...attempted to explain to the man who had torn the sticker that he was engaging in the exact form of tyranny that he allegedly opposed. When my date got a second sticker from the car to replace the torn one, a post-debutante told us that there was no freedom to express "obscenity." I remarked upon the fact that she was holding the rubber chicken, which was naked. She berated my date (a teacher in Ocean Hill Brownsville) as to how much more good she, the post debutante, was doing by volunteer teaching in a ghetto one night a week...
Still stuck in traffic, the denouement soon came. The girl who had remarked upon my glasses got out of a car and tore the second sticker off. As her car pulled alongside. a gray-haired man yelled "she was right and you better not try to do anything about it." Further dialogue ensued with this man. including a suggestion that I leave by helicopter and that five cars were going to follow me out of the parking...
...avoid waking up everyone in the house. Careful not to rustle the sidewalk's leaves, we divided ourselves into three scouting parties and began searching up and down the street for Frank's car. And suddenly thank godthere it was, Frank's white Rambler with its B-school parking sticker on the rear window. Within seconds, we had all crawled inside, rolled up the windows, and locked the doors. Only three hours and it would be dawn. Joel played taps on his kazoo...