I was alone, it was fucking raining in Seattle, go figure... and I was pretty much broke. I didn't have anymore weed. All I had was cigarettes, a new tattoo( I have a dang pot leaf on my back shoulder that I had done in Seattle), rolling paper, and the sickest feeling of loneliness and regret. I guess I was feeling too sober to escape the shame and guilt. I knew I had fucked up royally. All the while my mom, unbeknownst to me, had been harassing my best friend growing up, Derek, for information on my whereabouts. I remember Derek gave me hell for it later that year. He said my mom guilted him into telling her that he had taken Greg and me to the train station. "His blood is on your hands!" apparently she had cried to him stuff like this when he initially tried to play dumb. Man that was the beginnings of a good decade of people that care for me now only worry about me. My mom told me years later that I had robbed her of a vast amount of lost sleep over those years.
I started to walk south down highway 5, sticking my thumb out trying to get outta' Seattle, and a cop stopped me. Again I didn't get in trouble even though he explained to me that it was illegal to hitchhike, and I plead ignorance and it worked. Those cops in big cities up north seemed incomparably cooler than those from TX. This nice officer gave me a ride to outskirts of town. I mean this guy let me throw my bag in the back seat, didn't search me, and so that was the one and only time that I had the privilege to sit in the front of a squad car.
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