Two chairs appeared out of the crowd and Kinsman sat down between the singer and a chubby blonde girl who was intently, though unsteadily, rolling a joint for herself,
Kinsman felt out of place. They were all staring wordless- ly at him, except for the rapt blonde. Wrong uniform, he told himself. He might as well have been wearing a badge that spelled out NARC.
"My name's Diane," the singer said to him as the bar's only waitress placed a fresh beer in front of him. "That's Shirl, John, Carl, Eddie, Dolores . . ." She made a circuit of the table and Kinsman forgot their names as soon as he heard them. Except for Diane's.
They were still eyeing him suspiciously.
"You with the National Guard?"
"No," Kinsman said. "Air Force Academy."
"Going to be a fly-boy?"
"Flying pig," mumbled the blonde on his left.
Kinsman looked at her. "I'm going in for astronaut training."
"An orbiting pig," she muttered.
"That's a stupid thing to say."
"She's wired tight," Diane told him. "We're all a little pissed off."
"Why?"
"The demonstration got called off," said one of the guys. "The fuckin' mayor reneged on us."
"What demonstration?" Kinsman asked.
"You don't know?" It was an accusation.
"Should I?"
"You mean you really don't know what day tomorrow is?" asked the bespectacled youth sitting across the table.
"Tomorrow?" Kinsman felt slightly bewildered.
"Kent State."
