I'm afraid my mother doesn't know about this one. For good reason. It's a harrowing ride with little to no shoulder and I'm broke. It seems like people can tell when you genuinely need help. Perhaps the only way to get help is to need it. I mean, really need it. I'm not sure if people help out of obligation. Telling themselves, 'this might be the last time someone sees her before she bikes off a cliff because it is dark and this road is winding and who knows what someone would do to her. She's all alone. She could get mauled by a mountain lion or my uncle Bill that drives this road a little too drunk a little too late at night.' This is how I met Cindy. I would've biked another twenty miles in the dark, but she chauffeured me to an inlet in the bay with all this nautical junk, some trailers, and some dogs. It looked gathered and organized by a tweeker. She was not a tweeker. She was house-sitting. The tweaker junk was rad. And she was lonely. And I listened. And then I left.
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