Saturday, August 16, 1969
By two o’clock the next morning, the music had ended and I was exhausted. My bladder was full, too. “I gotta take a leak and clean up a bit. I’ll be back in a few.” I removed my flip flops and grabbed a small flashlight—we had two between us—my towel, and a bar of soap, then prepared to get out from under the tarp.
“Sure. Oh, here.” Sullivan put all the trash in a paper bag and handed it to me. “Take this stuff with you, all right? I’ll take care of the bedrolls for both of us.”
“Great. Thanks.”
I stood and made my way slowly through the drying mud to my destination, trying not to step on the bodies around me on the ground. Most people were asleep by now. Others were amorous in twos, threes, or more. The smell of weed and cigarettes was strong. I tried not to
