Arno’s parked at the curb when I get home from work. His parents have just told him that he can’t go to the festival. All day the radio’s been reporting that traffic to Bethel, New York, has been backed up for dozens of miles. A week ago, they were estimating that the crowd might reach forty thousand. Now they’re saying it could be more than double that. The police are warning people not to go. But Arno’s got two thousand hits of Violet Rush to unload, so he’s going no matter what his parents or the police say.

“What about the traffic?” I ask.

“Sammy Steckler used to go to camp near White Lake,” Arno says. “He gave me directions for the back way in.”

I’m still disappointed that Milton won’t be there, but right now this festival is what I’m living for. For three entire days, I won’t have to think about army induction physicals, or Robin, or Chris, or my parents getting divorced. For seventy-two blessed hours, the center of the universe will be Crosby, Stills & Nash, the Who, Hendrix, the Jefferson Airplane, and maybe even Dylan himself.

For the past week, the music festival has been the only thing longhairs have talked about. All you have to say is “You going?” You don’t even have to say where. The day after I saw her in the Carvel parking lot, Tinsley called and said she’d changed her mind and wanted to go (but not with Mr. Leather Vest Bare Chest; she confided that he was a possessive chauvinist pig) and asked if I knew anyone with extra tickets. She was thrilled when I told her she could buy Milton’s from him. Like Arno, she’ll be sneaking out of her house tonight. I never thought of this before, but the bigger the abode, the easier it probably is to duck out unnoticed.

And she isn’t the least bit fazed that Barry and I are planning to rendezvous. She’ll be going to the festival with one former paramour. So what if she sees another while she’s there?

I tell Arno that I’ll convey his message to her. I suspect there are a couple of reasons why he’s keen for her to go. He probably thinks that having a pretty, sexy hippie chick around will help create the impression that he’s some sort of big-time dealer. And, as a bonus, maybe he’ll get into her bell-bottoms.