I bought a one way ticket to San Diego. I grabbed a couple thousand dollars in cash that had been lying around my dirty apartment full money and drugs and empty bottles of scotch, and hopped in a cab and went to JFK.

I arrived in San Diego without a clue of where to go or what to do.

It was 3AM.. maybe 2AM… I can’t remember but all I remember is after I went over to the green shuttle bus… or maybe it was blue? or white? anyway after I got off the plane and walked aimlessly over to the shuttle bus, I said

Take me to the cool part of San Diego

And he dropped me off in the middle of The Gaslamp District and I put my backpack on the ground and looked at the chaos.

So I don’t remember exactly what time it was, but the bars were still open, so I went inside one of them and ordered a drink… like I always did. Now I’m sober… but I used to order drinks, and lots of them.

So I order my drink, scotch… any brand. Didn’t matter, and I started pondering about life as I normally did at moments such as these.

What should I do?

Why am I here?

Where do I sleep?

What do I fear?

I feared hostels. I don’t know why. This was before I had ever stayed at a hostel… I had always wanted to, but never had the balls. Now I’m the fuckin hostel king of Hollywood… I’ve been to like thirty. But that night, it was my first night that I would venture to a hostel and see what the hype was.

I was twenty-six years old. I’m currently thirty-one.

I googled “hostel san diego”

Up popped USA Hostels San Diego.

It was only a few blocks away.

The bar was now closing, I was the only person there. In fact.. I had been the only person there since the second I walked in.

So I stumbled over to 5th Ave and G Street and knocked on the hostel door.

Someone came through on the buzzer


I got a reservation.

A bed?

I made a reservation online. Just now. might not be in. it in?

I was so drunk.

Just got here from NY. I’m from NY. I just got here.

They buzzed me in, they checked my ID, they gave me a receipt, which was to be magnetized to the side of my bed, and a towel and key. I walked over to room five.

This felt odd.

I opened the door and turned the lights on then quickly noticed there was like ten people asleep in beds. Fuck. I turned the lights off.

I put the flashlight on my iPhone on and looked for an open bed. I found one, I got in it and fell drunkenly asleep to the noise of “the Party Room” which was down the hall.


I woke up.

Thehs someone een me fucken BED!

Some british sounding dude starts screaming at me, drunk as a muthafuck.


and he marched out the room and started demanding


So I quickly realized that the bed I was in, well, it was HIS bed… there was all his shit… right there next to me. Fuck. So i got up and hopped in the other bed on the otherside of the room that was open.

I woke up startled as hell in the morning. I remembered everything. Holy shit.. .what if this guy kicks the shit outta me… I looked over at the bed and he wasn’t there.

Was he still drunk and awake and wandering around? Or did they give him another bed?

I looked at his stuff and his stuff was not there.

Fuck… he could be anywhere.

I had not gotten a good look at his face, it was too dark, but I’d remember that voice and boy oh boy would I get even with him… And by the way, that person whom I’m talkin about… I’m pretty sure he’s reading this right now.

Don’t worry homie… I’ll tell the whole story.