With your hands in your pocket as you held a plastic bag brimming with items that any nutritionist would advise you to avoid: Sprite, BBQ chips, two mini Reese's cup packs, and maybe the only thing that'd be fine to consume regularly, a premade sandwich.

You may ask, why? Well, don't. You know why.

September 13. 2016 Ten days ago was your birthday, the big one-seven. It was all sweet 'n' shit before you were sitting on yours sisters steps with only your backpack and phone. Being kicked out was not the gift you were expecting from her this year. Funny— No, not really.

'Cause now you were homeless and a few days ago you were in denial, thinking one of your friends would let you crash at their house. Nope. The fuckers would let their boyfriend stay over even if the guy had rabies, but they said no to you. Fine time to find out your friends weren't your actual friends, huh? This year was just full of surprises.

It was nighttime, and the cold air made vapor escape from your nostrils with each breath. You made it to Humboldt County, California, by train, as you had enough money for a ticket because, by the grace of God, you saved your money. If you didn't, you'd be fucked. Well, more than you already are.

The plan now was to stay at a motel until you could get in contact with your grandmother, and that was proving harder to put into fruition because there were no motels around. You stood outside the gas station trying to figure out what you were gonna do.

Then you spotted her. A girl with purple hair sat down on a bucket with what seemed to be a guitar, you couldn't tell because she was faced away from you. Before you knew it, your feet were taking you closer to the girl. Why do you trust she'd be able to help you? 'Cause of the hair, obviously.

As you got closer, she met your gaze, but your attention was on the sign next to her, "will eat for food" it read. Your eyebrows knitted together, a grin creeping across your lips. "Funny," you say.

"I know," she grinned. "You lost?"