Hell, if I stay in San Francisco, I’ll end up worse than dead, I’ll end up working just so that I can afford to be broke. I’ll end up like the men who stood in line to build the Golden Gate Bridge, only to fall from the heavens, replaced by the next man in line, just another asshole caught in a net, suspended there, broken back and all, dangling, hung out halfway to hell.
The voice above belongs to a young man who will cross every barrier he’d promised himself was un-crossable. He will have fistfights, soul fights. He will relapse. He will try to go home. He will try his best to ruin his life and the question is this: will he succeed?
