TEAR GAS, like the Holy Spirit, moves in mysterious ways. Riot police passed the choking gas throughout the Common sector of West Cambridge Wednesday night; thin clouds of poison floated up Massachusetts Avenue. One unsuspecting summer school student almost started speaking in tongues when he attempted to cross the untrafficked thoroughfare: abruptly, he stopped, whirled about, doubled over momentarily, then retreated in a crouched position while violently rubbing his eyes.

A member of a small group of onlookers hailed the temporarily blinded student and offered him some eye-drops.

"Thanks," the student spat out between gas-effected coughs.

"Time to join the revolution" a member of the group suggested to him.

"I probably will at that."

"Now you can relate to oppression, man!"

"I had read about it in the papers, seen it on TV, but I never, NEVER thought it would be like this. I was just trying to cross the street. I didn't have anything to do with that noise down by the common... just cross in the street."

He wept.

"That's what the pigs are like: they don't care who's in the way, man-they're protecting the state, not the people."

The student continued to rub his blood-shot eyes. Eventually, he looked up and away at some imaginary enemy. "I feel like getting every single one of them and shoving some tear gas up their faces. They're wearing gas masks, aren't they."

"Yeah. We're gonna hafta rip off some gas masks if we're gonna do any good."

"Do you think its safe to cross Mass. Ave. now if I hold my breath while I'm running?"

"I'd wait another ten minutes if I were you. maybe twenty. It takes a while for the fuckin' gas to lift. Your eyes ain't dry yet either. Here, have some more eye-drops."

"Thanks."

"Any time man."