Some writers therefore turned up at readings, conferences and festivals with bodyguards. And I for one certainly felt better with my revolver than without it. We floated on turbulent seas filled with swift currents of rumor: the FBI, the Tactical Police Unit; government agents carrying HEW identification cards; the blacks were going to blow up New York this weekend; the Puerto Ricans would do it next weekend; the Weathermen were going to do it today; everyone complained of strange sounds on their telephones. Those white women giving up leg to black men were really agents, so zipper up yo dick. People wondered just whose list they were on, the Feds', the local's, the state's; no one believed that he or she was not on a list.