Across the Land: The Voice of Rocky Horror

Just another autumn Friday night in Manhattan's Greenwich Village. The usual mixture of hoboes and bohoes, kids out for a good time and jolly parasites out to feast on them. Around midnight, 400 or so young people have lined up on either side of the Eighth Street Playhouse box office. Their behavior is genial and gentle, with no rock-concert jostling; there might be an invisible Sister Mary Ignatius patrolling the sidewalk. One couple chats in Portuguese; a trio converses in Czech. It's a U.N. in miniature--so much so that when a derelict wanders by, desperate to strike up a monologue, he...

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