His Only Dream Is Finding A Quiet Place To Hide and the only home he’s ever known is a few hours in a little bar on a Monday afternoon where happy hour starts at 1 and he can get a vodka grapefruit in a pint glass for two dollars and seventy five cents he’s got just enough money in his pocket to get him where he needs to be and by three o’clock he’s just about there sitting on the corner stool hiding from the day and landlords hungry for rent and other things he can’t afford outside the window there is Haight street the sun is in the sky and the girls look good beneath it Bob Dylan on the Jukebox and suddenly it’s summertime and nineteen sixty seven he lights a cigarette and smiles to himself knowing any time now things are really gonna start happening.