“Orgasms,” she declared, “are the most political subject there is.”

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The movement had changed. Radicals now used LSD, mescaline, hash, and speed as well as grass. They listened to music by Frank Zappa and the Fugs, which hurt my ears. They bragged about orgies. They wore T-shirts in psychedelic colors, and the men had hair below their shoulders. The Diggers, hippies, Yippies, and underground press editors treated electoral politics as a bad joke. They didn’t want McCarthy for President. Their candidate was a fat pink pig. Their platform was “Fuck the System.” Their irreverence made me laugh. In my straight job, straight clothes, straight apartment, I felt far away from them.