Such a brave generation. We marched onto the streets in our T-shirts and jeans, holding the hand of the stranger next to us with a trust I can’t summon now, our voices raised in song. …

Look at me. I’m standing on a deck in the middle of Oregon. There are people inside the house. It’s not my house, you don’t know them. They’re drinking and singing and playing guitars. You …

They are kissing, on a park bench, on the edge of an old bed, in a doorway or on the floor of a church. Kissing as the streets fill with balloons or soldiers, locusts or …