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Hi listeners, I'm David Wheeler and I have a story I want to tell you.

A story of a rebel teen hitching a ride with the wrong truck.

So gather round and listen.

Close.

In the summer of 1995, I decided I'd had enough of my parents.

I guess they'd had enough of me too because they didn't seem super concerned about my

threats of leaving.

I wanted to go to California and be free, man.

Get by on my art or whatever.

I don't know what I was thinking.

I guess I thought I'd get to LA and just miraculously be able to afford it by smoking

weed all day.

Because aside from a few bad sketches of frizzetta-style maidens here and there, that was pretty much

all I did.

Even in the world of 18-year-olds, I was a particularly stupid one.

So I snuck out of the house one night with a few sets of clothes and my most prized

bong and an overstuffed backpack.

I left my parents a note that said something stupid like, don't bother looking for me, I'm

already in California.

Like I said, I was dumb and their patience with me was wearing thin, so that note might

...