By Greggory Moore
A few years ago there was this great party in one of the communal, hippie-ish houses here in Long Beach. A rotation of DJs held it down behind a pair of turntables in the dining room, while an appreciative press of bodies churned in time, free and easy, 21st-century-hippie style.
The house was north of 7th Street, a little bit in the ‘hood. (In a matter of seconds Long Beach goes from “definitely not the ‘hood” to “um….”) Sometime around midnight numerous newcomers arrived, young men apparently not acquainted with any of the ten residents. They made their way to the dining room-cum-dance floor and appreciatively took in the vibrant scene. They were in no way obtrusive, so no-one paid them any mind. We just kept dancing.