Never trust anybody over 30, Abbie Hoffman once told me,
quoting a quote he had already given to a national press, a statement that
filled my head each time I bought a drink for a stripper, who was edging in on
the magical age, as if like Cinderella, 30 was the new midnight when the
carriage turned back into a pumpkin and steeds back into mice.
It was all down hill after 30 when a girl needed to do something more to keep up with the game, more and more, though even that would not last, they claimed, 30 leading to 40, after which all they had is a datebook
full of names and numbers from which they hoped they might get enough to buy
groceries.
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