the Story of a young man's move to SF.

The date is September Sixteenth, Two Thousand Ten. Today is a cold and savagely foggy day in San Francisco. A fiercely independent young artist sits in a ghastly green city park bench. He has many friends but his best companion is his five-pound Chihuahua, now keeping guard at his side. He feels a slight mist on his freckled face as he notices a group of pigeons foraging for crumbs on the sidewalk below him.
“They're hungry, they're a family... Family, hungry, am I hungry for family?”
He feels the wind pick up, so he takes off his tuxedo coat and wraps his puppy warmly inside. He feels is dog is the closest he will get to family.
The San Francisco wind becomes almost entirely unbearable. The mist is so dense that his clothes are dampening. Today is full of memory. He remembers exactly where he was a year ago. He moved to San Francisco to become an artist and do something with his life. A complete and acute accident made his dream of living in San Francisco unfictionalize. An accident he would later describe as the gateway to the rest of his life.

He was only Seventeen when he moved away from his parents. He was always fascinated by birds, and always felt he needed to take flight and leave behind everything. He learned how to be a man entirely by himself. He made all of his decisions by himself, no one was going to help him. He put himself through school and graduated High School as Student Body President of his School, but no family attended his graduation ceremony. The summer following graduation became a roller coaster of feelings and life changing circumstances. Four days after finishing school he accepted a job offer in Guerneville, California. He left with only two suitcases leaving behind everything he owned to his friends and companions.
He hitchhiked to Guerneville, and was picked up in an old rusted pick up truck, by a remarkably odorant older man. The young artist looked out the window of that old pickup truck watching everything he had ever loved become smaller and smaller from the road until finally he could no longer recognize where he was. At one point during the ride, the sky darkened.

After a few moments of complete darkness the old man became oddly curious.

His hands began to wonder, and the artist didn't know a clue on what to do. “I'm in the middle of no where, it’s dark, I'm scared and I have no phone”.

He thought silently to himself.
“Need any cash for your new life, boy?”
Not knowing what to do, he felt every bit of his innocence be robbed from him regardless of choice or force. He felt dead, but continued to breath, he felt weak but he knew he had to remain strong. The stranger pulled out eighty dollars from an old wallet in his glove box. Threw it at the artist, left the car, opened the door and ordered the boy out of the truck.
“NO!”
The artist yelled.
“Find your own way to Guerneville, boy!”
After a few hours of crying in the cruel coldness he felt engulf his body, he decided to be strong and find a way to Guerneville.
Noticing that he was only a few miles to Santa Rosa, he made the choice to walk to there and catch a bus to Guerneville. When the artist arrived in Santa Rosa the sun had already started it’s journey across the sky. He felt dirty and sweaty from his hike into town, but more deeply he hurt from the old man. He would never forget that ride, ever. The first transaction. He found the bus station, and noticed a cross road... bus to Guerneville, bus to San Francisco. He had already made his decision on where he wanted to grow old. He made that choice a long time ago. The artist was full of adventure and full of youth when he boarded that bus. So full of youth.