One day I was tagging along with my brother as he went to visit some people he knew up the street on Fillmore. Jerry preceded me up the stairs. Again, though it is the middle of the day, all the windows are covered. A fellow in the corner with long hair looks at me suspiciously and says, “Who’s that?”
Jerry says, “It’s my brother.”
“Looks like a narc to me, man,” says the guy. (“Narc,” too, is a word we’ll come to hear a lot.) Buffalo Springfield would sing, “Paranoia strikes deep / Into your heart it will creep.” Little pockets of darkness in the Haight.
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