Art: Beatnik Crisis

Around Manhattan's Washington Square early last week, there was hardly a joint that wasn't a drag. Reason: too much fuzz (cops). Just about any coffeehouse—the Gaslight, the Epitome, the International (behind the White Horse, where Dylan Thomas used to drink), any place, in fact, where the espressos are like Rome's and the cats are cool—had a freeze on. The copniks, like, had told the beatniks, like, that reading poetry aloud is entertainment, and to have entertainment a joint's got to have a cabaret license. "We don't get no bread [money] for this," pleaded...

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