Hippy Punk Cowboy

Being stranded in that bunkhouse reminded me of being stranded in Austin, Texas, when I got there at 19 years old. I simply left, just like I did when I went on harvest, not knowing what was about to unfold. I had always loved Austin as a young boy; in the 70s, my dad used to take us there for vacation. However, when I decided to move there by myself, I was homeless, I had no car, no money in my pocket and I didn’t know one person in the city. Despite this, I wasn’t afraid; I was excited! Austin was a cross-cultural place—very lively and festive, very underground. It was calling me.