Senior gave me the boat as a birthday present. He told me it was a
small token to compensate me for my troubles. He apologized that I
was unsafe in his house and promised that it would never happen
again.
I named the boat Freedom.
Scotch didn’t come around much anymore and her friends had
permanently moved on. There’s nothing like a murder to clear out a
house. It was for the best because those hippies attracted a lot of
attention from the police. My family did a lot that was outside of
the law but they were quiet about it. They paid police when they
needed to. They didn’t bother the general public. They operated as
innocently as criminals could.
Hippies, however, have a different mandate. They want to change the
world. They want peace and are willing to stir up as much unrest as
required to achieve it. They want the law and the government to
support their change so they argue and fight and challenge.
Gangsters merely operate in another realm. Agree to disagree, they
politely tell the police.
It’s ironic really the way hippies want peace but gangsters achieve
it. How does protesting, which is anything but peaceful, bring peace?
Practice what you preach; that’s what I’d like to tell those
hippies. That’s the only way they will get peace. Actually, if I
was to be perfectly honest, I would have to admit that there will
never be peace. My father loves peace. He loves the idea of it. He
loves talking about it, singing about, he just loves it. Not me, I
don’t think it’s healthy. Peace sounds a lot like communism to
me. If you don’t have conflict then everyone is just blindly
accepting commands somewhere. I think getting along is nice and I’m
not a big fan of war, but peace just seems silly to me. Maybe I’ve
just read a few too many autobiographies of insolent dictators and
rebels.
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