|"Euripides?" the cop says. "What's that a joke? You think you're funny?"
I'm like stoned out of my mind. I've been smoking grass and hash twenty-four hours straight and this cop, he's like a parody of cop, a big burly guy with I swear to God an Irish brogue. I'm like I can barely keep from cracking up. I'm trying to focus on his badge just to keep it together and then it's like it's someone else talking and I hear myself say, "Man, I can't believe you have an Irish brogue!"
And then I see a hint of a smile around his lips and this glint in his eyes that's playful and I can tell that I'm like amusing him, which is cool because he's amusing me too. So, can you picture this? It's Washington DC, huge protest, tanks in the streets, 50,000 freaks hanging off lamp posts, soldiers on the tops of buildings, troops of cops in riot gear, SDS guys threatening to blow up buildings, loudspeakers, bullhorns, chants, every now and then a wild rush as freaks run from pepper gas with bandanas tied over their faces, and me and this cop are standing on a little square of pavement behind a yellow bus having a pleasant conversation.
Then his eyes are downright twinkling and he's smiling ear-to-ear, shaking his head, just looking at me, and at first I don't know what's so funny and then finally I get it. I've got long hair down to my shoulders. I've got on sandals and torn jeans and I'm wearing a tie-dyed T-shirt with a peace-symbol button and a bead necklace.