T WAS A KIND OF RENT, really. I had nothing at stake but the guys I was staying with did and I like them. Besides, what the hell – it was a lousy war by any standards. A really massive demonstration just might do some good. We took the ferry into Sydney, past the Harbour Bridge and the Opera House with its sails shining in the sun. We each picked a spot and spread out. The office workers were hitting the street, all in a rush for a bar or a beach or some place of their own. I didn't say a word, I just waved my handbills. Most people glanced at them; about one in four took one. The punch caught me right under the cheekbone. My glasses flew off and my head snapped so far back I lost my balance. I fell very slowly. "Why don't you go back to Moscow?" He didn't wait for an answer. I picked up my glasses. Nothing broken. A crowd gathered around me. When they found out I was all right, most of them took leaflets. I left town well before the moratorium, let alone the end of the war.