San Diego

Ian warned me about California drivers. He said that they tend to drive in the left lane, even if they're driving slow. They don't care who is behind them. They don't know that the left lane is for passing. Shortly after I crossed into California, I discovered he was telling the truth. Be it three or four lanes of highway, there's someone in the left lane, who is not passing anyone. I had to pass them on the right. I even drove behind someone who got out of the left lane to let me pass, and then once I passed, they came right back into the left lane. Unbelievable.

So what can I say about San Diego?

I'll admit, when I arrived, it was a mixture of happiness and sadness. I was very excited to meet my new roommates, to see the city and I was excited that I had actually made it. On the other hand, I was deeply saddened that my trip was coming to an end. There would be no new city each day. It was going to be this city everyday for a long time now. The reality of my situation quickly became apparent.

I must've looked at my new apartment on google maps a dozen times. As I reached a street that I remembered from the map, I became very anxious. University Avenue is a major road through the Eastern part of San Diego. As I followed it, stopping at many traffic lights, I looked around and tried to imagine this place as home. The buildings are brightly colored, white, yellow, and pink, standing no taller than three stories. The Sun, in a clear sky, beat down on the city and gave it a hot glow. This is City Heights.

I made a right turn, left turn up a steep hill and my apartment building came into view, perched at the top. I had seen this all on Google Streetview, so it was like driving it for a second time. I parked my car on the side of the street and stepped out. I stretched and I took a long breath.

At the front entrance of the building is some overly complicated code system just to ring upstairs. I looked at it for a few seconds and before I could even try any buttons, someone came out the front entrance and I slipped inside. Technically, I could be trespassing on my first day in San Diego. I knew, just from the pictures of the apartment in the ad, that I was on the fourth floor. The actual apartment number has no fours in it though. The elevator is the slowest elevator I've ever been in. Later on that day, I reached the fourth floor and found #191. No doorbell, so I knocked

Lacey answered. She's tall, blonde, quiet. She showed me around the place, but again, I had already been here through the pictures. It was familiar but brand new at the same time. Nobody else was home so Lacey helped me unload the car.

Sarina came home a few hours later. She's shorter, reddish brown hair, and speaks her mind. They've been best friends since high school after they discovered a boy they both dated reused poems and love letters on them. His picture is on our refrigerator. A goofy young guy, shirtless, pretending to flex muscles, smiling with a mouthful of braces.

It doesn't take me quite as long to open up to new people anymore. On day one, we were strangers, on day two, new friends. My only friends, so far, here in San Diego.