It was a small hotel room, and as far as the girls could tell, at least 4 guys stayed there, and lots of others just drifted in and out. There was a sink in the room, filled with ice, a jar of mayonnaise and lunch meats in plastic bags. There was a loaf of bread on the dresser. And there wine bottles everywhere. The guys wore only jeans, no tops and had dirty bare feet. They were older than the girls, but not by much. Thier radio played the current hits, and they were were busy getting drunk. But, getting drunk cost money and these guys were hard core alcoholics.

It absolutely blew her away, when she saw first one guy, then another, and finally another, tie off their arms with surgical tubing, fill their rig they shared, with cheap-ass wine and stick it into their veins, register their blood in the rig, and shoot them selves up with wine. Jeez! When they noticed her eyes just about popping out their sockets, they explained, "It cost less," to get drunk if they just put it straight into their veins rather than drinking it. Well, that would explain the cruddy, run-down, hotel room; the fact none of them had jobs, and the sadness around their own eyes. Thier bodies and faces were young, but their eyes looked old and you felt they were worn out. They were also, some of the nicest guys the girls had met in the city. Taking the girls under their wings for the day, with no expectations... And that was about the length of any committments, they knew back then. A day or two... No one could afford or handle any more.

The girls had no where better to go that night, and if the cops had been to her job, they may just go by the commune too! So, they stayed where they were and partied. If anything, she trusted her instincts. And she knew somehow, they were safe where they were. She passed on the wine. She already knew she could not handle alcohol all that well. But, Debbie was a drinker, so she got drunk. They spent the evening playing cards, laughing, poking fun at each other and having a good time. About midnight, the guys passed out and the girls fell to sleep. They had made it through another night without any harm to either of them. Well, no harm you could see. But she would remember the wine geezers for the rest of her life. She never saw anything like that ever again. But once was enough.

In the morning, the girls got up, made themselves a couple of the "sink meat" sandwiches. They drank some of the cola they had brought with them, the night before. They washed their teeth with their fingers and hotel soap, told their new "friends" thanks, and goodbye. They never saw those guys again. But they were thankful they had been gentlemen. No matter what else, they had been protective and polite to the girls. Sometimes it was like that. You could meet someone on the streets. They would take you home, and you were safe. They would open their homes and hearts. You were instantly friends, and it was all good. But it wasn't always like that. Sometimes you struck out and your luck ran out...

They headed back towards the commune, walking in the heat. She was talking to Debbie about the money she got yesterday, and how it had to last them, and how the commune really expected her to kick in and to help buy things for everyone that was in need at the time. She had tried to read that book Craig gave her, Manifesto of the Communist Party, by Karl Marx and Frederick Engels, but deep down, she was no socialist at heart! She had never worked, never had money, and had no concept of how to handle it, let alone help to take care of others. She did not know how to handle this money issue. Loyalty were a stranger to her, so she did what she did a lot. She started her day, living in the moment and not thinking much further than that.

That day, there was a lot of "Orange Sandoz" acid going around. A guy they knew, got them some. They dropped a double doss each, and then Debbie took off with the guy! She did not see Debbie again for a very long time. She does not even really remember her much after that, because Debbie just kept going in and out of jail after that. Debbie even managed to escape a couple of times from the old jail that used to stand on Garden Street in Ventura, which did not surprise her. But, she did not like hanging around with Debbie anymore because she could not count on her to be there the next day, or be there for her. The only time she really recognized loyalty, was when she saw a lack of it, in regards to her self. Debbie would just take off and strand her. That was scary. She could handle being alone, but she just did not like it much. Especially when she was hitching long-distance, or after sun down. So, she headed back to the commune and her boyfriend. By the time the double dose hit her, she was at home. Thank God, Budda, Karma, that Great Universal Spirit (AKA Gus), or what ever! Safe again for another day.

Deborah Coss

Deborah Coss, has been writting since 8 years old, getting published off and on since 15, and finally realized her child hood dream, of carrying press credentials, working for womanmotorist.com. A diverse writer, publishnig several business type sites, she now publishes her own site, 1kindthing.com, creates some fine arts, and loves photography, commenting she is a social portraiture photographer and prefers the medium of black and white. In art, she has a very constructionist attitude, and enjoys making masks, and other 3 dimensional objects. On a personal side, she survived an extremly violent childhood, some serious trauma, including being crushed by a car at age 3 and half. Thus, her site 1kindthing.com, tells of overcoming hardships, in her many styles of writing. She is a baby boomer, raised in Southern California, bi-lingual in Spanish, descened from French, German, English and American Indian bloodlines. Coss finds words fun, and communication an art.