1996: I had been running around with this guy Jim for a while, getting into hijinks and adventure during our brief foray into drug dealing. An early-twenties ex-Marine from the midwest who had recently been dishonorably discharged for smoking weed, Jim was freakishly tall, had no eyebrows, and wore knee-high Doc Martens with his jeans tucked in and a bandana with an american eagle on it. I was a fifteen or sixteen year old juvenile delinquent, looking very unhealthy and punk.
We had somehow masterminded a deal where we ended up with all this free meth and had been up for an indeterminate amount of time smoking it with some other kids, talking about tweaker stuff and drawing on the walls of the apartment in Ocean Beach where we had a little hovel in the kitchen. I seem to remember a small fire breaking out, or it could of just been the morning sun, whatever it was something snapped us out of the previous night’s stupor and we decided to head to the beach.
We made our way down to The Wall, what the locals called the main stretch of boardwalk there, and found a nice place to sit and start the day. To the cops credit, I bet we looked EXTREMELY SKETCHY being a bunch of dazed looking teenagers and a Marine sitting on the boardwalk on a school day, so they ended up hassling us. They weren’t really buying my fake name and story, and knowing I had warrants for ditching out on probation I decided to spring into action.
My meth senses tingling, I took off down Newport Ave, dodging traffic while I decided what to do next. I instinctively knew I wouldn’t be able to outrun them with it being broad daylight and I made it five-or-so blocks before diving into some bushes on the side of the grocery store. I didn’t know it at the time, but I have since learned that cops REALLY HATE IT when you run from them. They were hating it so much at the time that they very quickly dispatched a helicopter to aid in their search. From the safety of my bush I watched several cops drive by and the helicopter fly around, waiting for as long as it would take for them to either lose interest or discover me.
After quite some time, an hour or two, my friends had given up on me and were heading back to the house. Luckily for me they just happened to walk by my bush, where I was still hunkered in, shaking and sweating, and I let out a loud PSSSSST. And then another. And then maybe a HEEEEY. I finally directed their attention to my bush and after a moment of disbelief they told me to wait right there while they formulated a plan. Jim soon returned with a baseball cap and a windbreaker for a disguise and we began our mission of paranoia to smuggle me back across town. Taking side streets, allweyways, and apartment complex cut-throughs, we made the perilous journey back to the house and let out an exhausted cheer.
This is a good story to start off this blog with because it’s the first time I ran from the cops and hid in a bush from a helicopter BUT NOT THE LAST. Stay tuned.
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