A boy, his girl in a green velvet evening gown, and two non-descripts met in front of Mem Church at around seven Friday morning, dropped down on a bedspread, lighted candles, and waited. At that point the only other people visible were a policeman strolling near Emerson and a couple of janitors shooting the breeze next to Sever.
When a soldier and a girl arrived it looked like there might be breakfast for the group and there'd be a little happening. But no. No frenzy, no paint-throwing, no cannibal behaviour. The six just grooved on grapes, strawberries and roast chicken.
As a happening: not-so-hot. As breakfast: it beat fried eggs at the Union.
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