So this little old lady gets on the No. 10 bus down Central Park West, just as she does every Sunday morning, with her white gloves and little pillbox hat, the whole thing, on her way to church. She looks up and—whoa, driver, this bus is loaded with hippies. Wrong. It's packed with them, strange cats in flowers, feathers, frock coats, velvet vests, beads, bangles, headbands, hair out to here, and everybody passing joints. Far out. This thing is a rolling time capsule, Age of Aquarius stuff, very 1960s. So the lady sits down...
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