Later, he began hitchhiking to Cut Bank, then riding the rails to Spokane and Seattle, where he lived in the hobo jungles and on the skid rows. I used to take my guitar and play music in the hobo jungles. I was deep into alcohol and drugs, and I had many thoughts of suicide. I used to dream of jumping off a railroad trestle as a way of escaping. Finally, he ended up homeless.
Street people take care of each other.
Finally, he found fellowship in a treatment center and went on to preach sobriety to those around him. But I'm one of the lucky ones who lived to tell about it. Some of the scars remain, however. Now when I go into restaurants, I have trouble with people standing behind me because I'm so used to protecting my back. That's something I'll probably never lose.