Fucking cops. I remember it had been almost three months since I arrived in LA. They set up a sting. Thought they’d capture a bigger fish in the drug pool than they really got. Six of us were carrying the entire haul, which wasn’t much compared to what the cops thought they’d get. We all got booked. Juvie was suddenly home for three more months. Not even sixteen years old and I thought my life was over. It was mildly amusing when they were about to book me into the boys side of juvie when my little secret came out. Probably why I only got three months. Social Services stepped in and got me out early. Saw me as one of those cases they could “save”. Saved meaning once out of juvie I got put in some children’s home. I lasted there all of two months. Snuck into the bathroom one night, re-shaved my head, re-packed my little belongings, and snuck back out to Santa Monica. Found my friends again after half a night of searching. But now I didn’t have anything else to do for cash but what they were offering. Did twelve hand jobs that night, and never looked back.

After another couple months, around my 16^th birthday, a new face turned up in the area. Saw him at the coffee shop that was now my regular hang, sitting there as naively and dejectedly as I had all those months ago. Clive, from San Diego. We clicked. He joined me, and we looked out for each other, taking turns with johns and keeping watch. My secret lasted all of two months with him, not really sure how he figured it out, just more observant than the rest of our “friends” I guess. But he never said a word, for which I will always thank him for. We found family with each other, despite him knowing so little about me or me about him. But when you live on the streets, that’s how it goes. No one reveals too much, too much risk in that.