“There’s one,” Lauren says. “See if he needs anything.”

I slow to a stop at the intersection, pulling close to the curb. “Roll down your window and ask if he’s hungry.”

Window down, cold air trailing traffic rushes in. It’s a cloudless blue sky, but the November sun in southern California is useless. “Hi there. Happy thanksgiving.” Lauren’s voice is filled with the kind of joy rarely found in adults, but rather in children on Christmas mornings and birthdays. It’s this voice that caused my heart to stumble then fall forever in love with her the first time we spoke over the phone. “Are you hungry?”

(more…)

AM I VISIBLE? Black marker words scribbled on a brown piece of cardboard. He sat with his legs crossed, eyes closed, gently rocking back and forth on the skateboard between him and concrete. Knees escaping, pale and dirty like prisoners ought to be, from the holes in his jeans.

AM I VISIBLE? A busy Hollywood street corner. Rush hour traffic going nowhere fast. I catch glimpses of him through passers-by. Students hurrying home. Women in high heels and pencil skirts. Fathers with daughters on their shoulders. Children helping mothers carry bags filled with pumpkin pies, cranberries, and Thanksgiving turkeys.

No one stops. No one notices.
(more…)

“How have you been not going to church?” Clint asked, sipping a margarita on the back patio.

Matt leaned against the wall, taking quick, careless puffs on his cigar. The sunlight reflecting off his glasses, the cloud of smoking rising around him, he seemed more like an apparition than my friend. “I’ve hit a plateau. My relationship with Jesus isn’t any different, but it’s not any worse.”

“It’s been what, a year now?”

Matt nodded. “I don’t even think about church on Sunday. This is my community now. You guys right here. And I’m fine with that. Church is wherever I go. Wherever Jesus was standing, church was under his feet. I don’t see what the big deal is about being a Christian who doesn’t attend a church regularly.”

(more…)

Last week on the corner of Hollywood and Vine, I encountered a man who looked like one might expect Santa Claus to present himself if he’d been kicked out of the North Pole, mugged in a back alley, and ate nothing but donuts and diet coke since learning how to chew. I sat idling in my car at a stoplight. He sat idling in a broken-down electric wheelchair, his stomach and beard spilling forth over his lap. In his hands, a half-chewed cup he held out to every pedestrian on the sidewalk within poking distance of his cane. He kept yelling, “Quarters! Quarters! Do you have any quarters! Any extra quarters?”

(more…)

I have a confession to make. I am terrible at being a Christian.

On Thursday I went to Barnes and Noble. I bought a map to help chart my course for Mad Across America. I purchased one of those outrageously giant wall maps I could write on and put tacks in and draw tiny little pictures of tanks on, pretending I am in the middle of the Civil War.

And good thing I bought that map before hitting the road. If there’s anything I’ve learned from planning this trip, it’s that there are a lot of states in America. 50 of them, it turns out. And the states are big. Who knew? I may be on the road longer than anticipated.

(more…)

I abandoned my apartment this week (much to the dismay of my landlord who became quite vexed at the discovery of my chalkboard wall and furniture I couldn’t sell), junked my car, and gave away everything I owned, including some CDs and DVDs which Amoeba Records bought in exchange for some lunch money.  My entire life now fits into four boxes and a duffle bag.  Three of those boxes are filled with books.

Oddly excited to drop off the grid and crash with close friends giving me the chance to get my life in order, I decided to have a celebratory burger and fries with my lunch money before I dropped out of Hollywood.

(more…)

When someone asks me what I do for a living, I like to tell him or her that I am a writer. But writing doesn’t always feel like work, and writing doesn’t exactly pay the bills. When I work as a writer, I end up secluded. I often forget that anyone else exists outside of myself. Outside of what I’m creating.

My most recent job, though, was in Culver City, California. Twenty minutes by car. (If you’re fortunate enough to have a car that’s not a broken-down, unregistered, uninsured piece of scrap metal.) In the gridlock-riddled city of Los Angeles, I spent ninety minutes both to and from work on the bus. It’s not riding the bus that makes you tired, it’s the people on the bus. Everyone on board always looks broken, burdened, and defeated. They’re visibly angry about it. No one ever seems content. They are walked over and ignored. And every bus driver in Los Angeles acts as though they hold the worst job on the planet, but they’ve clearly never worked in a meat-packing plant.

(more…)

Los Angeles. Home to the stars. Home to dream-chasers and new beginnings. Home to movie premiers. Home to diversity. And the homeless capital of America.

Over 250,000 men, women, and children sleep on the cold concrete streets in a city where many of the world’s wealthiest and most influential individuals reside in luxury five bedroom homes tucked away in the Hollywood Hills with their sports cars and pools and 52-inch flat screen televisions.

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