Marley

"Need a ride?"

Marley throws the makeshift cardboard sign to the side and climbs into the spray painted Volkswagen. "Yeah, man."

A spotted hand reaches out and opens the floral door. "Anytime."

Marley climbs inside and plops onto the ripped bench seat. "Goin' to Bethel?"

The man who had opened the door grins, revealing tobacco stained teeth. "Hell yeah."

The driver laughs, making his dreadlocks quiver. The van is filled with people like Marley, smoking pot and kissing violently on the floor. Old anti-war posters are folded up against the walls. Rock music plays on the radio. Colorful LSD papers stick out of pockets. Nothing is out of the ordinary for her.

"Why d'ya think our parents hate us so much?"

Marley turns around. Bell bottom jeans, braids and a bandana. "There hasn't been a generation like us, man. Propriety's gone. They were our age durin' the war and they did nothin' about it. They didn't protest, they didn't take drugs, they didn't hitchhike, they didn't wear clothes like us. They didn't support peace. They didn't live like us, man. That's just our generation."

The girl nods. "Nice headband, by the way."

Marley smirks.

"Look at this."

Marley climbs up to the driver and looks out at the sea of cars. "Groovy, man."

...

Marley lays on the grass with a guy she met buying a cigarette. Some band called Santana plays far ahead of them. It's raining. She's perfectly content.

"What was your name again?"

"Ziggy."

Marley nods. "Ah, right. Sorry, man."

Ziggy laughs and offers a small square of printed paper to Marley. "Want some?"

She runs a hand through his dark curls and takes the paper. "You know what my motto is, Ziggy?"

"Hmm?"

"The best type of journey is a psychedelic one."

...

Marley lays on her back while Ziggy draws daisies on her breasts with permanent marker.

"That was good sex yesterday."

Ziggy's curls blow to the side in the wind. "Yeah. Well, you know. 'Psychedelic journeys are the best ones.'"

Marley laughs and puts on her sunglasses. She reaches for a match and lights a cigarette. "Do you think it'll ever be like this again?"

Ziggy raises an eyebrow. "You and me?"

"Nah, man. Like this." Her arm carves a large arc in the air.

"Ahhh. I dunno."

"I mean, our parents and our grandparents never had some'm like this. Will our children and grandchildren?"

"I dunno. To be honest, I don't think so."

"Yeah. All of this... peace, free love, psychedelic journeys... even simple things like rock and cigarettes... they could be taken away any day."

Ziggy nods. "You know what they'll say. 'Just a fad in grandpa's day.'"

"Just our generation, I guess."