"The hell's that suppose to mean?"
He heard Robin say, "Dark hair, brown eyes, nice body. On the staff of the Michigan Daily, sold ad space. How about Mark the mechanical mouth?"
"Mark Ricks," Skip said, "sure, with the bullhorn.
He'd lather up the students, get 'em chanting, the cops'd come storming across the quad and Mark'd split for the Del Rio bar. Man, you're bringing it all back.
"Two four six eight, organize and smash the state."
" Robin was spray-painting again, making waves, so Skip waited, thinking back. He could see a guy with dark hair and an Indian kind of headband on that corner by the Undergrad Library, the Ugli, yelling through his bullhorn, a guy with him beating on a tom-tom. Skip said,
"
"One two three four, Vietnam's the bosses' war." With his mom paying his way through school, huh?"
Robin's voice said, "He carried Chairman Mao's red book in the glove box of his red Porsche."
She was looking this way now and Skip saw she had painted another name under Mark: big