it was a late friday afternoon, at yet another outdoor music festival. the spring air was humid, the nature in bloom —not that you could smell it, or anything besides cannabis. but such is life in the 60s.

this was far from your first rodeo, you did this as often as you could. the environment was relaxing to you. but today was different. a bigger band was playing at the festival, directly causing more people to flock to the small-town scene.

you sat on top of a secluded hill, with a birds eye, distant view of the stage. your legs stretched out in front of you, your eyes skimming but not processing the words of the political book you had in hand. an approaching boy your age took you out of your element.

he looked like he didn’t know what the hell he was doing or why the hell he was here. he had the look kind of down pat, kind of. bell bottoms, a shirt resembling a christmas tree skirt, and barely grown out waves resting on his eyebrows. he had a slight hippie musk to him.

you snickered and set your book face down on your lap. “what’d you do? read the how to be a hippie handbook, what is this?” you asked, gesturing to his look in general.

“oh, yeah.” his head dipped forward, he was definitely embarrassed, a bit defeated. “this is my first time, i don’t know what i’m doing.” he took a step closer, looking to the spot next to you, as if asking to sit there.