Night has fallen over the Glade of the Hippiemancers. In the middle distance, Janis and Sizemore sit under a canopy in front of a large brazier that gives off a violet-white flame. Off to the side is a column of psychedelic colored shapes reminiscent of the wax in a lava lamp.
I love you for that.
You want peace.
But we are popped in a world where peace is impossible.