Spots

Spots walks with a noticeable limp. Several months of the homeless lifestyle will do that to you. Actually, Spots doesn't consider himself homeless, preferring instead to use the term "houseless," which is basically the same thing without the negative connotations.

Spots hasn't always been houseless. In fact, he still has a house to go back to. His mother and stepfather live in Los Angeles. His mother battles depression, and an increasing dependence on several medications have made her difficult to relate to. His biological father was abusive, and Spots considers his stepfather his dad.

Every time he goes home, Spots becomes restless and uncomfortable. He prefers the excitement and beauty of the open road, even if it does come with some rather difficult challenges.

Spots makes due by "spanging," or "spare changing." Being still young and intelligent, Spots is able to rely on the kindness of strangers. He has different tricks for different types of people, and his experience "spanging" has taught him to approach an old man or a young woman with entirely different tactics. And Spots is no stranger to inventive tactics.

He tells me of some of the signs he has used in the past. When he was younger, he would bring his girlfriend with him onto the streets. This was a practice not uncommon among the youth Spots had fallen in with. Sitting on the sidewalk, Spots and his girl would hold up a cardboard sign that read:

Please give money for booze so she can get drunk and I can get lucky.

"When I was with a guy, the sign would read so he can get drunk and I can get lucky." Spots laughs. "You should have seen the responses I got from that one."

As he tells me this, I can't help but wonder how much Spots is playing me. But if he is playing me, he's doing an admirable job. Spots makes for excellent company on the road.

He tells me all about life "riding the rails." How groups of anarchist teens have formed ruthless gangs like the FTRA (Freight Train Riders of America) and The Scumfucks, a group in San Francisco with no respect for human life.

"They'll slit you're throat for fun," he tells me. "I don't like The Scumfucks very much."

He also tells me of an unpublished book that gets passed around by freight riders. The book contains secrets on the best places to get into train yards without getting caught. The book can only be passed on by photocopying, and it is updated frequently to outwit the train authorities who, according to Spots, are known to be quite ruthless when dealing with freight riders.

Most freight riders will wear a bandana. Different bandana colors label their owners with different characteristics, or affiliations, and they are also helpful in distinguishing a hobo from a "home bum," Spots' term for homeless people who stay in one city for a long period of time. The bandanas are used to guard against fumes and other dangers that come with unconventional travel.

It is also common practice for riders to carry railroad spikes. Though they make traveling more difficult due to their weight, the spikes are often seen as a matter of life or death because certain cargo spaces are not meant for human cargo and can suffocate travelers who don't use the spikes to jam the door open and let in air.

Sensing that Spots is tiring of talking, I offer to put on a CD. He browses through my collection excitedly, finally settling on a classic Green Day album.

"I'm so happy to hear music," he says, beaming. "I never get to just sit back and listen to music."

When we stop for lunch at Taco Bell, Spots munches down a burrito and a cheese roll-up.

"Sometimes I forget I have to eat." It doesn't make it any easier that Spots has decided to be a vegetarian.

After limping out of the restaurant, he sits down on the curb and takes a moment to let his feet breath. His feet are covered with blisters and callouses, and they are bleeding in several areas.

Freight-hopping is not an easy existence.

I hand Spots my cell phone and tell him to call his mother.