I remember a day in San Francisco, when I was a young man. I was hitch hiking around and ended up down at Playland At The Beach. It was an amusement park down on the water that had big animated clowns and shit.

I don't remember much about that night, but I do know that as I was walking down the steps to the ocean, hundreds of giant rats came rushing up from the beach, and swarmed around my feet, towards the street.

I spent the night sleeping up in the woods overlooking the attraction at the curve of the road.

What a strange memory to pop up in my brain. It really defines my troubled young life. I think it all went south when I turned sixteen. A step dad that didn't give a shit, school sucked, a president shot, riots in the street.

What the hell was I doing in San Francisco?