A Near Death Experience

‘Kiss me,’ she said on our

first date, sitting on busted

leather seats outside her

mum and dad’s house inside

the 1948 Hillman Minx with

 a month’s MOT left on it.

I kissed her and she wanted

me to go to Dartford Heath.

‘What’s the rush?’ I said,

unable to believe my luck.

‘Haven’t you heard?’ she

obsessed, ‘Russia’s sending

missiles to Cuba. I don’t

want to die a virgin.’ her eyes

pleaded, aided by clumsy fingers

tugging on my fly. ‘I don’t have

“things.’” I warned in half-heart.

‘I don’t care, we’re going to die.’

And so, in October ‘62, North Kent’s

hippie movement was conceived.