The bus ride from Topeka had been long and hot. Carrie felt bedraggled but happy, and with one look at the Haight-Ashbury street signs, she could feel she had arrived, not just physically, but metaphysically. She was home – not her birthplace, but the place she’d come to meet her destiny. She sat her slightly beat-up guitar case on the ground, stretched her arms above her head, hands linked, palms upward and sang, quietly at first then in full voice: “If you’re going to San Francisco ….”
She didn’t have flowers in her hair (yet), but she did have them on her purse. And she was ready to meet her future.