Stockton, CA

I fell in love with the Jackson.  Maybe it was the high talking.  It's sound was melow, soothing.  I wish I could play, but right now I was content listening to him.  I was almost alseep, but I just kept listening to the melody.  The way he played had a jazz quality, but it was better then that.  The sound was smooth and just flowed together.  There are those people that you just know are talented and will be something in life, and he was one of them.  My boyfriend was playing the xbox tearing it up of course.  The t.v. blasting, but I could still hear the guitar in the background.  The electricity was going off tomorrow in the apartment, and rent was not paid.  They had no plans on where they were going to go, and everything was going be sold.  It was like you could hear the sadness in the way he was playing.  Being on the verge of homeless is something I do not think anyone gets use to.  It is just something you learn to accept.  That's how it is trying to grow up in Stockton, California.  The town that breaks everyone down.



"He's stable and talking now,"  the police officer told her over the phone.  She was already in the car leaving the driveway to get to the hospital.  Her mind was racing.  She thought about how they met in highschool, their daughter, and how could something like this happen.  He left to the party earlier then her.  It was not right.  He had been shot five time for looking at someone wrong.  He was going to be fine she kept telling herself, but she reached the hospital only to learn he died before the ambulance even got to the scene.  That was six months before I met her in class to now be in the medical field raising her daughter by herself.



I love listening to lives of other.  Most of what you hear you would never expect.



One girl in my class strips everynight in San Fransisco, the guy who sits next to me smokes weed on every chance he gets, and another women's son surivied being shot twice.  I would never of known.



"Who is it,"  the women holding her two year old son said trying to look through the peep hole in the door. 

"I know Marcus in there.  Tell him to open the fucking door now before I break it down."

"I have no idea who he is.  You have the wrong house."

"I know he is in there," she watched him say through the door.  She was going to try to tell him again that she doesn't know who he is, but she saw him reach for his gun. Before she had a chance to run, she turned, blocked her son, and was shot twice in the back.  They had just moved in a week ago, and Marcus lived there before.  Her husband came home to his wife dead on the floor, and his son crying. 



Stockton is a fucked up place to live.