Stranger in a Strange Land

I went to California around 2003 after a bad couple of years in the district. I was dumped by the girlfriend Kristy and started to live somewhat wild staying in the car and on couches.
Working as a messenger. The next thing that happened was getting hit by a car and being put in the hospital. The injury involved being hit from the back by a cabbie. He lied about what happened and he got another cabbie to lie about what happened also, to be a witness. I remember this fucking asshole, towelhead, getting out of his car angry with me because I was enraged enough, and in hindsight stupid enough, to kick his sacred crown vic. This was after he hit me driving away from the gas pump at twenty third and M st. and looking out of only his right hand passenger window as he floored it to the sidewalk and myself, as I was entering the crossing. I went down the ramp and attempted to evade this complete dick as he was completely not looking and going way to fast. I was hit while I was going down the ramp off the sidewalk and onto the road. The angle of the ramp meant that when he hit me from behind I was sent for big hang time. I remember, post adrenaline, The sound of my leg breaking and it was like when you intentionally snap a good size limb for firewood.
The cabbie was able to create his LIE right in front of me and talk arabic to his other unsympathetic coherts and when I was carted off to the hospital the female black cop came up to my bed and presented me with a District of Columbia traffic violation. ( nice..one foolish lazy DC cop and no chance for a lawsuit for a broke bastard like me..ok I met dad once.. :) The foreigner told the ambivilant policewoman that I kicked his cab as he was waiting at the sidewalk for me to pass. My leg was broken into "cornflakes" ( doctors proffessional assessment of the severity ) and required an orthopaedist thirteen screws and a rod the length of my calf to gather the result of my ...inability to control my "social disorder". ( BS )
Soo that was a bitter incident which rendered me pretty helpless. The surgery itself was set for two weeks post incident. This meant having a cast to allow swelling to reduce. This also meant every time I moved that leg the bits and pieces would grind and protest and I could feel the movement of the various pieces shifting. I was living on my brothers couch for a couple weeks and I was and I am gratefull for his help. ( though he never visits..)
Anyway, lets move forward and away from that fun. I was always blind to the lies and deceit of Kristy and I was back and forth with her and her BS until she left for good around 2003. It was the epic year when lance was crashing and still winning,..and I was crashing and losing. ( or at least thats the year I think ) I left for California to never come back. I went to Laguna Beach. It is a fancy Southern part of the west coast with many tourists and also quite a mix of locals too. The soul of the town industry is art and tourism. ( a pair of twins named Samara and Gabby moved there from Great falls, Va. who r old friends ) I found a few places to camp including a cave of sandstone in a canyon. I got a job as a construction laborer by just walking onto the site and getting sympathy from a nice foreman. I was not doing well though, even in paradise. people seemed distant and distracted. Insincere and preoccupied. Maybe those adjectives were really my own but I did ride my bike. I was not fully recovered but I was determined to not let the naysayers win. There were some including my own mother who told me I would probably have to forget about racing. I was maybe like Forrest Gump...confused, angry and needed time to think.
Soo the job at Monarch bay was wrapping up and I was not prospering there anyway so I packed up and headed off to LA in search of better pay and more importantly someone to maybe call a friend or to hang out with. The twins were involved with their own lives and the art people were not my sort. I was broke and the messenger bag was really loaded. I mean a set of Ksyrium wheels and much camping stuff. I slept under a beach in a really industrial part of long beach and a kind homeless guy, as opposed to me, lent me a blanket because I was sorta short. I felt for him BC he was whooping and coughing all night in his tent and I could hear his pain all night from a dozen yards away.
I rolled into the worst slums of any town I have ever seen. Made the worst parts of Baltimore look like a nice scenic getaway. I think it was Compton...not sure. I am sure I was interested in moving along quickly and worried for the first time ever about being jumped in broad daylight. Trust me, I have been plenty of places and this was the most bum infested, hood crowded, used car parking lot of an area I have seen.
I eventually, after literally hundreds of blocks of slums, started to see high rises and suits. I was never happier to see suits. I had spent my last dollar on a double cheese and I wanted to barter my wheels for some food money. I asked a commuter about where the messengers were to be found. He said "fourth and Flower". I was off. It turns out that it was like mecca. Weed wafting and guys who bought some of the stupid cycling shit I had and suddenly I had fifteen dollars and a route to Venice beach where I could crash. I slept on the beach under a lifeguard station for a couple weeks and evantually got a messenger job at 1st Legal. Like a Quick messenger service in DC. LIL lower rates but more work. I crashed some( slept ) at Jonas'es in Venice also and it worked out ok for a while but things were real tough there and I would never suggest going out there as ill prepared as I was...and as fucked up as I was mentally either. I am all growned up now. :) ( some of the stuff I got into I wont talk of here but not swift, lucky to be around stuff )