Who: Classic Rock and Hippie Subculture What: Dancing When: Friday night Where: some dance club Warnings: Drug use, possible sexual content
Hippie was ready to go. She wore a flowing dress, covered with a vest and some old pair of sandals that were very near to falling apart. Her hair was down, a headband tied across her forehead. There was a flower tucked behind one ear, a joint behind the other. As she danced wildly, her limbs flailing and twisting in an odd sort of beauty, her eyes were wild and wide he lips parted into a serene smile. The flashing lights painted pictures for her, with the acid she had dropped earlier. She could imagine that these were the old days again.
When the garden flowers baby are dead yes and your mind is full of red don't you want somebody to love don't you need somebody to love wouldn't you love somebody to love you better find somebody to love
She sang along with the music, her hand pressed against Classic's chest as the crowd slid against them. She wished for mud and more people, for the orgies in the grass. She smiled up at him dancing easily around him. She lived for this.