She did not move when I stood and walked over to take her hand. "Come," I whispered and she followed, eyes delightfully downcast. I knew of a restroom...in the back, small and well hidden. So I took her to that room, it's walls painted in the promises and fantasies of gay men. How many men had used this room as I intended to? Her chest was heaving as the lock clicked shut behind us. "I shouldn't," she whispered, but her voice was laughing and her fingers traced my hip. I took her hair in my. " "But, damn it, Sput, our interviews aresupposed to be controversial. " Dill seemed to recall saying that at each of these conferences. "Not that controversial, " Sput said. "Now, here, Jane Fonda and Terry Southern, they're good. But, my God, Ezra Pound, for Christ's sake—he's a fucking poet. *' "We interviewed Allen Ginsberg, " Dill said, watching the girl's head bobbing up and down. "Yeah, but his poems are full of dirty words. That's different. " "Pound used fucking in a poem. More

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