I may hate driving. I may even hate driving anything other than a compact car. But I so always wanted a hippy van. No, not a shag wagon or a creeper van, but a full-on, painted-to-hell HIPPY VAN. I wanted a van so colorful that it made you trip out sans drugs; you could lick it and swear you were on acid, and could never evade anyone in the tri state area. Was it the years of my childhood watching Scooby Doo? Was it my guilty longing to be born in the 60s? Or the open dialog on drug use and its effects?
I don’t know, but hippy buses just appeal to me.
