A coolish-warm Autumn night—delta of 10th St. & 6th Ave: Bookstore on the corner—Erich Segal’s Love Story perches on its shelf-summit, mocking its siren-song to us young Orthodox Jewish college freshmen strolling, trolling for college girls.
(O Hope forlorn!)
Bell bottom jeans, leather jackets with fringe; long hair. The sweet smell of maryjane pervading the air. Incense, peppermints, lava lamps undulate, slowly, in head-shop windows….
In night-darkened Washington Square Park, groping gaggles of NYU students lust in the darkness, kiss fiercely in shadows, mount on benches. We girlless men of Yeshiva, aching-loined, ritually skullcapp’d, unwillingly celibate, look on in envy.
“Where are you Boys from?” a voice whispers, gentle as new-fall’n dew;
We look up, startled:
Two College Girls; behold! The Tone of the Night has changed.
O Stars, dilate!
G-d, bite Your nails!
What will ensue?