(21) Summer Of Love (Part 1)

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"Our love is like the wind. I can't see it, but I can feel it." — A Walk To Remember,  2002

Word count: 1699

The song above is Gimme Some Lovin' by The Spencer Davis Group

The song above is Gimme Some Lovin' by The Spencer Davis Group

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1967

A light, warm breeze flittered through the streets of San Fransisco. 

Around me, young adults stumbled through the streets in their vibrant clothing, singing and laughing gleefully. They were all heading towards Haight-Ashbury — the same place I was going to. 

Two men approached me. One had long shaggy brown hair and electric blue eyes whilst the other was blonde and short. 

"Make love not war, right?" The shaggy-haired one announced, swaying slightly. His blonde-haired friend reminded me of an uptight university student. He devoured my outfit - which was a pair of denim shorts and a spaghetti crop top with desire. 

"Yeah," I agreed, placidly. I knew they could do nothing to me — they were humans. I was stronger than them. However, I wanted to avoid a scene at all costs. If my parents found out I used magic in public, they would cut my trip short. 

I had been stuck in the palace walls for years. My last visit to the human realm was eight years ago in 1958. I spent it in England, exploring the many old cities there. 

This time, I decided to spend my time in America. I had heard from Atlas — who came here last year — that these past few years have been incredibly interesting here. People went wild on new drugs and alcohol. 'Hippies' as they were apparently called, have taken over most of the younger generation. 

When he told me this, my interest peaked. 

I arrived here yesterday after hearing from a twenty-something woman that there was going to be a large concert in San Fransico today. She helped me choose my outfit and make-up. 

People were calling this summer the Summer of Love. 

So far, my expectations had been met. Everyone was incredibly happy. There was a sense of freedom. Even though the police tailed us, watching with their shields and helmets, they would not stop these people. 

When I asked my friend — who went by the name Dawn — why the police were here, she told me about the Vietnam war. 

Atlas had failed to mention a war. 

"Are you here alone?" The shaggy-haired guy asked me, over the loud chatter. I picked up my pace, hoping to lose this guy.

"No, I'm here with a friend," I answered, truthfully. I lost Dawn about five minutes ago. She spotted one of her many friends and rushed over to them, leaving me to get pulled along with the crowd. "I should probably go and find her actually." 

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