The 60's Are Over
I'm sitting at work. I hear a man's voice outside of my third story window.

"No more blood for oil. Praise the Father, the Son and the Holy Ghost. Hallelujah."

I stand and look out the window towards the off-key singing. The long brown haired man in his mid to late 20's is sitting on a cement block with his guitar and backpack.

"A gentle college war protester" I thought to myself.

I sit back down at my computer only to be enticed to the window again by the man's angry voice.
"You have a devil laugh. I was wondering where that devil laugh was coming from."

I look again and see that he has moved to the ground level window underneath me and is speaking to the women inside the building through their open window. He turns and heads back to his pulpit, as I hear a cackling laugh taunt his back. He spins around quickly and gestures with his hands together in a prayer fashion, and bows his head to the voices. Then, since his sarcastic motion was not seen by his trapped audience he re-approaches the window.

"Do you know what I have to say to your devil laugh?"

Then he goes through the buddhist-like movements again, followed by a commentary.

"Praise the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost. And the Four Corners."

He then faces North with his hands up, pauses, then faces the three other cardinal points of East, South, and West.

"Do you want to see me dance?" he says as he finishes his Native American graces, and begins an arrangements of marching steps in all four directions. He continues on for about a minute with a few different gyrations with his knees and flailing arms before he stops and informs the devil laugher what she just witnessed.

"That's a warrior dance. A warrior dance" he repeats as he finally swaggers back to his guitar, only to stop again and give his bowing head with praised clasped hands to the window one more time.

"I only mean positive words and positive feelings." he clarifies.

I think to myself, "Could of surprised the hell out of me. I thought you were a crack-head tap-dancing for hits of junk."

As with most public nuisances, everyone carries on with their work in their workplace ignoring the free spirit outside. That is until he begins to yell out to passerbys.

"Practice celibacy."
"Hey, if you try celibacy for five minutes, I know you will be rewarded."

Eventually, the cops came and squashed the beatnik's glory. The "man" kicked the soap box out from underneath him. I didn't hear the applause, but I know my fellow employees and I rejoiced the cop muzzle placed on the fruitcake.

I'm all for peace and love, and voicing of opinions. I dislike the blabbering declarations of drunk -like pain in the asses though, especially when it is beautiful outside and I have to work.