“Do you ever miss those times?” Phoebe asked.

“What times?”

“You know. The sixties.” The term sounded foolish.

Karl sucked at the pipe, eyes narrowed. “It was good,” he said, breathing smoke. “Like falling in love. Sure, you want the beginning. But you know already the end.”

Phoebe took the pipe. The smoke was soft as felt in her lungs. “What’s the end?” she asked.

Karl shrugged. “Same like everything,” he said. “Goes too far, becomes the opposite.”