Now Is the Hour

1967. Rigby John Kluesener stands in the moonlight, a flower in his hair, his thumb out trying to hitch a ride on the road to San Francisco. The story of how he came to be there – of an adolescence spent on his parents’ farm in Nowheresville, Idaho, of his father’s misanthropy, his mother’s strict Catholicism – is utterly real and totally unforgettable.