I awoke after a rainy Sunday night of being lost in the fog of the Catskills and found my way to a sleepy little hamlet named Woodstock.
In no hurry to rush through the nostalgic symbol of peace and love, I found the coin-laundry and began washing a large load of clothes. The other patrons were all older than I. All the men had greying long hair and the women all were wearing garments in the style of the sixties like I had seen in films of the time when the concert outside the town changed its destiny forever.
I amused myself thinking I was in a convoluted Rip VanWinkle tale in which I had awakened after a long sleep. In this version I hadn't aged but all the "children of love" were now ancient.
A rerun episode of Mr.Ed aired on the flat screen over the banks of modern washing machines as more geriatric flower children arrived to fill the machines, then settle into their "laundry day" routines.