I always wondered what happened to Moe. We had shared a piece of plastic in the rain at Woodstock. Moe seemed to have such big dreams. I knew he would go far. I sensed I was in the presence of greatness. I half-expected to see him become president one day. He had all the answers, or so I thought at the time.
He didn't become president though.
Moe was older than me by several years. He had already been in college for 5 years then in the dark, rain coming down. Or said he had. I don't remember where. Not New York. He spoke with a thick California accent and said words like "hassle" and "right on" a lot.
I saw Moe the other day. I'm sure it was him, even though I had only shared a sheet of plastic in the rain for a few hours. He didn't remember me, of course. I dropped a buck and he flashed me an ancient peace sign I had long forgotten.
It was raining this time, too.
Moe was part of the Greatest Generation. He survived the brown acid at Woodstock.
Or maybe he didn't.