The Dark Journey
Chapter 12 - On the Road
Street smart chylde
glowing in your self absorption
ignoring the world
that has cast you adrift
upon the cold waters of civilization.
You take what you can
leaving little behind
of the stuff that others
have left behind, unwanted,
and you call it good.
Street wise youth
hustling and bustling
through the lanes and the avenues.
Guys making eyes
howling wolves
grinning toothily and staring
with red rimmed eyes.
You get what they pay for,
what they can't get at home,
and you call it life.
Street strung girl
lying by the river
clothing in disarray
from the revelry of the night.
How can you go on
making light of your horror
and the tepid draught of humiliation
that you must drink every night?
Street stung woman-child
crying alone and hopeless
when no one else can see or hear.
Abandoned, lonely, life in ruins
as you eke out your meager existence
dreaming of the castles
and the handsome prince
who will take you away from
the rotting stench of yourself.
Street scarred soul
wishing for redemption
knowing deep down inside
that it is never going to come.
You just go on
playing out your role
smiling and laughing when required
and writhing in the turmoil
of your mind.
Will you ever find
a way out of this maze
that you have created for yourself?
Do you have the strength of will
to set yourself free
from yourself?
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I worked my way north on SR 63 over the following week, staying out of sight as much as possible. Since it wasn't a well traveled highway, it was fairly easy to hide when a car or truck would pass by. When the lay of the land permitted I paralleled the road, hiking through the trees and undergrowth. I traveled more at night than during the day, hiding out wherever I could find a place to shelter: underneath bridges, in old barns and abandoned buildings, sometimes just in thick brush alongside the road. I had no illusions about what would happen if Jared or his friends were to find me, so keeping out of sight was a must.
It was slow going. I managed about 10 miles a night, sometimes more sometimes less. By the third night out of Visalia, I had reached SR 180. I turned west, making my way towards Fresno and, ultimately, San Francisco. I didn't have much problem staying awake during the night as I had plenty of cocaine to keep me awake. The draw back of this, though, was an intense paranoia. I had a few close calls as this highway was more traveled than 63 was, and I was forced to hide more frequently. There were a few heart-stopping incidents when cars had actually stopped, having seen me leave the road for the thick brush. I had to move rapidly away from the point I had left the road and hope that the person or persons hadn't heard me moving.
March was giving way to April by the time I made my slow way into the outskirts of Fresno. The weather was warming, although the rains seemed to be coming more frequently now. I found a temporary shelter in a storage shed near the airport until I could scout out the surrounding area and find myself more permanent lodgings. My cash was dwindling rapidly. I had maybe thirty-five dollars and some change left out of the two hundred. I had purchased a good pair of shoes in Visalia, along with a nice winter jacket to keep out the cold and wet, and that had taken up much of my money. More had been spent along the way on meals and food that I could easily carry with me such as beef jerky, granola bars, and packages of fruit juice.
I figured that I could find a good spot near one of the shopping centers to do a little pan-handling. First, however, I needed to find a place to call home. I was also pretty much out of coke, and would need to restock my supply somehow. That would take a good deal more cash than I could scrape up by pan-handling. I knew how to make fast cash now, thanks to Jared and his friends, but I didn't know if I could force myself to do it. I contemplated it more and more over the next few days.
My airport location was much too far from any profitable areas, so after a bit of hunting, I relocated to a park on 1st St. underneath a gymnasium there. This was also a temporary lodging until I could find something better, but it was much closer to the downtown area where most of my days would be spent. I was only there for a few days before I found what I was looking for: an old run-down tenement building with a basement that seemed pretty much unused, not too easily accessible, and with enough junk stored in it to hide among.
After rearranging a few piles of old musty boxes and crates around to make a hollow space in the middle and a hidden access way into it, I fashioned myself a bed out of the old bedding and mattresses that I found there. From the outside of my hideaway, it was impossible to tell that there would be room among the junk piled there. Inside was a nice cozy little space that I called home.
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