Believe It

I step off the bus, fighting through a swarm of people that try and push their way past me, shoving and nudging me out of the way. Faceless strangers rush all around me, blocking my way as they speed past. I grip my backpack a little tighter and slowly push my way through the pack of bodies and head towards the sidewalk. I sigh and look around. Where the hell am I?

I've been out on my own, homeless, for longer than I care to remember. I don't even know where I am. The last I remember is sneaking on a bus in San Diego and getting off here. The entire ride was five or six hours, so I caught up on some sleep. God only knows when I'll be able to sleep that long again. Well, maybe I can find a motel or something. I check my wallet. I have $452 left, but this is California, and everything is so expensive...

Plus, without that money, how could I be able to afford my fix?

Oh wait, you must be so confused. My name is Adam Lambert. I'm seventeen, and I should be a junior in high school about now. I haven't gone to school since last year, when I had to leave home. I used to live in Chicago before everything went wrong. Things got really bad, and I had no choice but to go. It hurts to think about. So I basically just grabbed whatever money I could find, which ended up being around $900, and left. All I really have is my journal. I write lyrics and poems to keep myself sane. Also, I'm a heroin addict. When things were getting bad before I left, a neighborhood drug dealer sold me some and I was hooked instantly. So now, I'm a runaway teenager with nothing but a backpack and a drug addiction. I have to skip city by city, drifting through and leaving nothing behind, or else they'll find me. I can't let that happen. Life's fucking great, isn't it?

I sigh, running my dirty fingers through my greasy, now once again ginger hair. I can't afford to re-dye it black, that would take away from more essential needs. I haven't had a shower in at least two weeks, and I need one, badly. I could also stand for a new set of clothes. I've been wearing this shirt for the past four weeks, and it's spotted with holes. My sneakers are ripping at the seams, and so are my jeans. I must look absolutely horrifying.

Strangers give me suspicious glares as I walk by, sticking their noses in the air, showing their distaste for me. It's not like I can help it! I'm God-knows-where, with barely any money and no where to go. Please excuse the attire, alright? They all wear such fancy clothes, obviously designer. No wonder they're glaring at me, I stick out like a sore thumb. If I stay like this, then they'll find me for sure. I look all around me. All I see are never ending streets dotted with expensive cars and mile-high buildings. Surely, one of those buildings has a vacant room? Or someone can point me to a motel? Hopefully somewhere inexpensive, but from the look of this city, it's not very likely. Someone like me would never survive here.

Wait! That's it!

They would never look for a poor runaway in such a lavish city like this. Everyone here is so posh, and I stick out horribly. It'd be the last place they'd look, and I'm pretty far from home as it is. If I get a job and change my appearance, they'd never find me. Not here. Perfect!

A smile graces my face for the first time in months. I could be safe here. If I play my cards right, maybe I could even live here! Now all I need is a place to stay. And to find out where I am.
But first I need a fix.