CHAPTER NINETY
2004- Two-Fare Zone
My long-ass Greyhound trip started at a truly scary bus terminal on NW 27th Street. That place was a special corner of hell—one that made me contemplate relapsing for half a second.
Then it was a hot, smelly and bone-breaking 27-hour ride to Port Authority.
How I got through those 27 hours dead-ass sober, what I did to keep myself from losing my mind, is not worth mentioning.
Once off the bus, I threw myself headlong into the 3 a.m. crowd, making a quick stop at Burger King to grab some large fries and a coke, then headed to the subway to start my two-fare zone journey.
Two trains and a bus. Heading towards an uncertain future.
