ABSTRACT
A man and woman are hauled or lured down to the boiler room, where, amid rags and rat-smell she is raped and both are stomped dead. Some crimes seem to crystallize an age. This time, only the corpses make it improper to write off victims and villains as an allegory staged by some playwright-deity. Centerfold obituaries immortalized Groovy as a speed-saint, guru-clown, lover-dealer. The flower children brought their material feast to areas of constant famine, and then went on a hunger strike. Abbie Hoffman wants to split for San Francisco. In supermarkets and psychedelic shops, a rash of neatly printed notices has appeared, offering cash for the return of a son or daughter. The old folks are scared, but so are their kids. The word has gotten around that some Diggers in New York and San Francisco carry guns—and intend to use them.
