Life has a comical way of twisting things when all seems well. Yesterday I aimlessly wandered through Golden Gate Park with my friend Josh. We had the entire sunny day to waste away and that we did. Porter, my girlfriend, flew to Denver for the weekend. With that, I crashed in her room, as I have been. Later on, Josh and I grabbed a drink at a local bar. We then cut our separate ways as the sun dipped down to end a pleasant day. My reality was sinking in and, exteriorly, it seemed like my life was coming together. Yet, once I returned home and squatted down on the couch, things crumbled beneath me once again. I was given the boot by Porter’s roommate…
Eviction shakes up one’s nervous system. You resort back into survival mode: there’s no time to think, only time to act. I scrambled across the kitchen-tiled floor to Porter’s bedroom, stuffing my belongings into my suitcase and gathering all of my non-perishable items.
I was back on the move, again. When I moved out to San Francisco I accepted the fact that stability and consistency would most likely not be present in my life. I mean, moving from place to place reignites the spark in life, but at the same time, it can be depleting. I aim for a manageable balance, but most things are out of my control.
After I filled my car back up with my belongings, I rambled around the block, uncertain of my destination. Then I rang up Josh–my only other contact in San Francisco–and he invited me to come on over. I secured a spot to sleep, at least for tonight.
Before rolling out to California, I anticipated myself sleeping in my car some nights. I did it last summer, and frankly, enjoyed it. San Francisco, however, is not the safest place to be sleeping in cars, unless you park on the outer edge of the city.
Josh lives in a co-op with seventy other people in the center of the city. His room is practically five by five feet, with just enough for a twin bed and a workstation. With that, his room would not be available to take refuge in. Nevertheless, there’s a communal living room with couches, which would turn out to be my resting place. The room is wide open with surround-sound speakers and ping pong; it also connects to the kitchen. Therefore, residents are constantly funneling in and out. In a nutshell, this spot is by no means ideal, but at this point, I’ll take anything.
My days on that couch will most likely be limited, as residents will begin to wonder and question about the duration of my stay, like my last place. Then I will be back on the move, fleeing in search of shelter. I am a man on the run.