Running

Stephen was running away from the draft. I was running away from my self when we ran into each other under a tree in a churchyard in Washington DC. We were both crashing there. The good people at Grace Episcopal Church had opened their doors to the street children that had invaded Georgetown. It was the summer of 1970. We slept on the floor of the church using Stephen’s sheepskin vest as a pillow. We made a little money panhandling or selling Quicksilver Times. We walked and we walked. We met people…some were hippies and runaways like we were. We shared lies and secrets and cigarettes. We took naps in Montrose Park. We ate bite-sized burgers at the Little Tavern.