Tom Petty & The Heartbreakers – Breakdown
I’m homeless.
Friday morning at 8 I shoved all my shit in the back of a Civic and drove away, pushing off from the curb and merging into the tide of traffic washing down Interstate 5.
After fourteen hours at the wheel I sailed into San Fran and coasted to a stop next to an apartment in the lower Haight with a window 10 feet above the sidewalk. Noah Davis poked his head out of the open window and said, “That you?”
Four inches of Johnny Walker, two beers, one cigarette, and a peaceful sleep on his surprisingly comfy red couch later, I was back in the Civic, aching from too much time hunched over in my car and not enough sleep over the past week.
The drive down to Monterey is a rough one. Sheets of rain raking across my windshield didn’t help matters, and midway through my 20 minute stint on the winding CA-17 I began to feel nauseous.
But eventually, 17 dumps into CA-1 at the coast, the sun glistens off the ocean, foamy waves caress the shore, and I slide my shades on. I may be homeless, but I’m still stylin’.
[Buy stuff.]