Talk of levelling the playing field was replaced by talk of "getting yours."
And the po-mos replaced talk of history and revolution with a-historical anthropological talk of how everything was relative.
And the unions were crushed....
Mitra liked that kind of answer. He was sure of himself as well but not dead sure obstinate. She wasn’t in to idée fixe kinds of guys. Fortunately for Oort his brain was always examining the contradictions within any particular shower of positive conceptual projections. He lived closely to a kind of quantum awareness informed by a consciousness firmly rooted in his libido. She’d met him here before, shelving books at the old Central Library. She decided then and there that she wanted to fuck him.
“Want to go to my place after work? I’ve got some fine weed we could share.”
Mitra’s eyes sparkled. She nodded a yes and grinned.
"I'm on a bike," he said.
"Me too," she replied.