Sunday’s San Francisco march was in keeping with the city’s reputation. The air reeked of burning white sage and patchouli and, occasionally, marijuana. Two men in tight shorts and arm ruffles danced on stilts, accompanied by musicians playing accordions, clarinets, bongos and finger cymbals. At Civic Center, booths hawked literature, T-shirts and bumper stickers promoting the virtues of movements and philosophies that would be considered irregular or even scandalous in more conservative quarters.
Zombie was there snapping photos and caught the quote of the day on one guy’s sign. You’ll know it when you see it.