The Lost of America Part One

I went to California to start fresh, which is an oxymoron for someone who had just turned eighteen. I had been on my own for two years, crashing on friends couches, in parks, abandoned rail cars, and where ever else was (kind of) safe for me to rest my head.
I woke up one week after I had turned 18 and decided to leave the East Coast. I packed up my few belongings, which all fit into a backpack, and walked to the interstate. I didn't have to wait long for a ride, and in just seven days of hitchhiking, I ended up in Oakland, CA. At 3 AM.
When I was dropped off at a Jack in the Box, I thought I was in Berkeley, where I had intended to go, after reading about how "punk" it was in the magazine "Maximumrocknroll", so I started wandering around. I didn't notice that I was the only white person around...well, all of Oakland, at that time of night. So when I wandered into Walgreens and was given some looks, I didn't know if I was just offensive or what. I bought a pack of smokes and went to wander around more.
When the sun came up, I found myself outside a BART station. I bought a ticket to San Francisco, and the excitement of the new city made me nervous. Before leaving the East Coast, I had been to NYC a few time, Montreal, Canada, and Boston, so while I knew what to expect, I figured that it would be different than any of those places.
I got off the BART on Embaradro, and wandered around for hours, maybe? Finally, I came onto the "red light" district, (Broadway) and sat down, overwhelmed. Where was I going to stay? I didn't see any other punks around. There wasn't any abandoned buildings...and I had forty bucks on me that a friend had wired me.
A seemingly friendly black guy approached me, and being a bit stupid, I started wandering around with him. Something didn't feel right about him, though, and when we went into a Carls Jr, I ditched him when he went to the bathroom and jumped on the BART.
This time, I ended up in Berkeley. When I emerged from the station (and the longest escalator that I had ever been on) I saw them. Finally, people that I would fit in with. Except I was new, and they didn't want anything to do with me. Exaustion finally got the better of me, and I curled up on a bench and passed out for a while.
Eventually, some of the kids started talking to me, maybe it was them realizing that I wasn't going away, and I ended up staying with one in a hotel room for a few days.
The hotel was a slum, but I couldn't bitch too much. At least I was able to shower (which I would soon realize was a luxury). But that didn't last, because the guy wanted more than to be just friends, and I wasn't about to do what he wanted. So, back out to the BART station I went, and was introduced to crystal meth.
Now, I wasn't a stranger to drugs in any way, but meth wasn't a part of the east coast at that point. I had done coke, which didn't do much for me, and I smoked some weed, but hated the munchies, so I was skeptical about meth. I had never shot up before, so I snorted it, and my eyes began to water. My nose felt like I just inhaled shards of glass. And then...wow! I had more energy than I could ever remember. The kid that gave it to me had been doing it for a while and was happy that I enjoyed it. We ran around Berkeley together, to People's Park, to the University, and he introduced to me to the other punks, who were now more than welcoming to me, as I was high.
But that night, sitting back at the BART station, Shadow, who would become one of my best friends, asked if I ever did smack (heroin). I told her no, to which she replied that I'd be hooked in a week.

end of Part One