There are holes in the street, there are holes in the fabric of society through which more and more people slip into the desolate world of margin and hunger. Hope is not dead, nor are dreams and fantasies, that on most days in most people lie dormant. On Halloween the spirits walk and the human spirit talks loudly and clearly , and it all happens at around seven o'clock on 6th Avenue in Greenwich Village.
Crowds appear when the Halloween Parade is about to start.
Pools and eddies and swirls of people lining 6th Avenue, standing, shifting, rubbing against the blue police barricades. They appear from out of the depths of the possum-like City, playing dead through the early fall. They come to see the pageant, the spirit of spirit, the crazy line of living expression that gathers a few hours earlier at Spring Street. T he first event is a magnificent living tableau of the spirit of chaos arising organically from the hundreds of marchers. So convincing as chaos is the tableau that one only recognizes that it is only a guise when it sheds its mantle to reveal a parade.