At the age of 18, one week after high school graduation, I boarded a bus from Pasadena, CA, to Daytona Beach, FL, hoping to find a childhood buddy of mine, Doug. I wore Dolphin shorts, a tank top, high top shoes, and a headband onto the bus. I stowed my backpack with the luggage. The bus broke down in the South (Louisiana, I think), and we were transferred to another bus. When I arrived in Daytona, my luggage didn't arrive with me. With nothing but the clothes I was wearing--and no address for my friend (I'd figured to get a hotel room, take my time trying to track him down when I arrived)--I looked in the white pages of the phone book for my friend's name. There was a Doug "Last Name" in the book who matched my friend's first and last name, but he had the wrong middle initial. He lived a few miles from the bus station. I figured maybe, just maybe, this guy with the first and last name that matched my friend might have run into my friend, thought it was a huge coincidence that they shared the same name, and remembered him--and maybe where he lived. So I checked a map and walked to the address. It was a condo. I looked through the window ... empty.