The Battle of
State Street
*****
There is a time when the darkest hour gets darkest and when nothing so bad as the worst gets worse. I had no idea what it was that was happening; but, in looking back, it seems that I was being towed along by a thread towards something indefinable. Call it destiny if you like, but it was more a case of being pulled along by serendipity and I was offered choices where each choice led to a series of consequences ever evolving into a strange progression.
About a month after the bloody Tien an Men square massacre, around July 4th of ’89, I flipped. Those kids in China camping out under Mao’s nose,… the liberty statue… the hope against a murderous oppression…, it all was a sore reminder of the emptiness of my life and the superficial posturing of rebellion by our clubbing generation on State Street. In lieu of cries for freedom our cries were, “Where’s the party!” and rioting in Isla Vista for more beer! Just that one lone protester standing off a line of tanks waving his shirt…! I could almost hear that thin thread my sanity dangled from…SNAP!
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