I saw the best minds of my generation...

Oh, the beatniks, you have to love them! Hepcats, wearing black berets and turtle necks, smoking brown grass reefers, drinking coffee and listening to righteous jazz licks in too cool basement frolic pads, splashing paint on walls in Pollackian patterns, playing bongos and snapping their fingers to stream-of-consciousness poetry, avoiding the Man and his unhip ways. What more could you ask for?