Down at a table near the counter are six guys just off the late shift. Two tables away are a Harvard student and his girl. He is pounding out a solo with his fingers. His girl is talking about God. The boy keeps pounding, moving, the head low, the fingers hard and calloused on the formica. For five minutes, this crazy drum solo. Then he stops, leans over, and kisses his girl. The six leer!

Three girls come in. Down the aisle in hip-huggers, and mini-skirts. The six turn and lust frantically.

A hippie enters. Down the aisle with hair to his shoulders. The six stare. "Jesus Christ." They whisper. They laugh.

One middle-aged woman can't take it. "Hey, you, hey, Are you a boy or a girl?" Lots of chuckles from the six. The hippie goes over to the lady, unbuttons his shirt, and holds it open. He offers further proof. The lady declines.

The old man with the Record-American turns his gray face to the brown clock, decides that he has an important appointment to keep, and leaves.

Behind Blitman, a freshman from across the street in a tweed overcoat is talking to his date.

"It's very funny, he's literally the only painter who, lived in Switzerland who produced anything."

"I know," she says. "I think of Switzerland as a non-productive place. It's spectacular--but boring."

"I mean, think of the color scheme of Swtizerland. It's white, blue, and green--at its best."

Blitman squashes his eggs and mixes them with the hashed browns.

"He was so fantastically anal--it was disgusting."

Yellow and brown mixed into a miscegenated map of Spain. And one tough English.

The Bick pick-up is a public spectacle. A patent-leather red-head comes in. Tall, about 30, as subtle as the Citgo sign in Kenmore Square. You just know she's a whore. She sits down next to some guy wearing a suit. "Wanna buy me some coffee?" is the line. Looks him right in the eye. Then they go out. There's something about the frank way that she looks at him. O.K., baby

Sometimes, it's more exciting. Like the night two drunk whores careened in. Blitman was studying for an exam. They started to make comments about his long hair. Then they moved on to the truck drivers and gas station attendants. "Bet he likes the boys instead," one would say. Then the other, "Bet he's got no balls." Finally, one guy jumps up and yells, "Okay, I'll make you feel it. Let's go." They left.

The bearded student comes over to ask Blitman for a match. He explains that he has come to the Bick to study since his sophomore year. He stays until four when the place shuts down for an hour. He wrote his English thesis in the Bick.