Feast of Leviathan

Years ago, my girlfriend’s sister ran off, and we had to go to Rittenhouse Square and wade through a pre-dawn spate of bodies—fringe, leather, sweat, Hindu oils and acrid smoke–to ask an ex-high school math teacher peddling LSD, young runaway hillbillies, Irish factory girls, and one tall black guy whose astrological signs served as names …

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