Stories Surround Us Everyone and every place has a story behind it, if you just listen.

Left at the corner, alone with only my bags and a sign: BEACH. The night before I was intimidated with the coming day, but now my emotions turned to a motivated anticipation. The plan was to hitchhike up the coast and hear stories from those who pick me up; I wanted adventure and was going to get it. It only took 20 minutes to get my first ride.
A black-haired girl in her mid-20s leaned down and peered out the window, “You're going to the beach?” Her speech sped, she seemed both distraught and delighted as we drove onto the freeway, “I can't believe I'm doing this, I have work this afternoon! Do you mind if we stop at my place for a couple things first?” She explained that after losing someone close, she had been hoping for a day to just stare at the ocean. Something therapeutic. It was then I noticed the gentle melancholy that seemed to hide behind her excited smile. She pushed up her black-rimmed glasses, “I need to call work too and tell them I can't make it.” Adrienne worked with kids, introducing them to the arts, and lived at Puddingstone Reservoir with a couple artists.
Their space was as eclectic and bohemian as Adrienne. She gestured toward the flower petals spread over windshield, “Henry must have parked it under a tree; I think it's beautiful. It's like a celebration with confetti.” Swaying in a rocking chair, the fur-coated artist Sam (her roommate) looked over his book, smiling at the comment, and joined us. We walked past lines of RVs in a short jaunt lakeside and Adrienne explained that she was nervous when first moving there. She expected “drugs, violence, and domestic abuse” but discovered everyone had a sense of being true, kind neighbors.
Back to the car, Adrienne asked if it would be okay to make a couple stops. Making our way through Stater Bros. and Target, we discussed music. We considered the merits of supporting small artists and unique models for music sales. And although she tries to write music in different genres, it always turns into folk. It was definitely a passion of hers, it was easy to tell all her worries dissipated when speaking about music. We parked, the music ended; we had arrived in Santa Monica! We made our way down to the beach and I finished a new sign: NORTH TO MONTEREY. Looking up at Adrienne, I could tell her melancholy had faded into the background; her spirits had lifted. A couple of photos were taken, hugs were given, and I went back to the road on a promise to find them again. I certainly hope to.