We are walking in the sand. Its dark, and we watch Emmylou spitting up sand in her wake, running in crazed circles. Off in the distance Manhattan Beach Pier stretches out into the black waves, and beyond that, a constellation of lights spread across the Hollywood Hills.

We drove the seven lane stop-and-go the traffic into LA for the last three hours. Mikey, hacked, agreed that we need to at least make it to the ocean before we figure out where we’d sleep. We rolled the windows down and the brined, earthy wind seeped into our veins, intoxicating us. Happiness doesn’t even begin to cover how we felt. Euphoric.

That night we would make it to Walmart, sleeping under some yellow trees, listening to traffic as we sleep.

We spent the next day walking. Wading in the water, I tried to imagine what my feet looked like to the fish below, the bottom of my feet appearing, disappearing. Black dolphins jumped in the waves. They seemed to only appear when a colossal wave crashed down—perhaps it stunned the fish, causing the frenzy of dolphins to swoop in.

We met up with my old buddy James (my roommate from my first stint in San Diego when I was eighteen) and his lovely girlfriend Jazmine. We drank beer at a bar in Laguna Beach with barnwood walls, high ceilings and large windows opened to the night.  It was weird to see him again, as if old friends don’t exist anymore after you move away. We talked about our lives in the last ten years, Earthships, Tiny Houses, family.  As we were getting up to leave, he casually mentioned,

“Hey, you guys doing anything Sunday? Want to go to The Price is Right?”

We arrived at 7am on Sunday, on the only day it rains in Los Angeles. The night before, we parked outside of James’ mom’s house near Hollywood. She lives right next to Aziz Ansari, and, naturally, we walked over to snoop around his house. The entire neighborhood was patrolled by video surveillance, and not two minutes after we parked we saw flashing lights in our camper. A security officer was taking our information. He didn’t bother further, but you knew they were watching.

Waiting in line, they interviewed us, took individual and group photos. The photographer said to act the way you would if you won a new car. I think my reaction was appropriate:

They took our phones prior to entering, so we couldn’t take any photos. The set was unreal. And so. . .small. The entire ceiling was covered in lights, and bored-looking cameramen in tshirts and grubby beards were setting up cameras, practicing the swoop-down shots that go over the crowd. My stomach was flipping. I could win! I could go on TV in a few minutes! I secretly wished I wouldn’t get picked, the old shy me coming forward and telling myself you’ll freeze up, you’ll look stupid, you won’t hear what Drew is saying and only hear the ringing in your ears. 

This was probably true, because the day before I was interviewed by Harvey Levin in an episode of People’s Court. For real. We were walking around Santa Monica Place (a mall), when we noticed that guy from TMZ talking to a camera. We stood by for a second, and just as we stopped a young woman asked if we wanted to be interviewed for People’s Court. We shrugged, and a few minutes later found ourselves standing behind a huge camera, Harvey prepping us for some Q&A. I was front and center. He didn’t mention a thing about the actual case, instead he asked insanely simple questions like,

“Is it better to give your notice to leave your apartment at the beginning of the month, or the middle?”

Once we were primed, they rolled the camera and asked us that simple question again. It was so incredibly fake, but that’s to be expected. I found it curious that Mr. Levin did not wear shoes, instead donning flip flops with his suit.

Anyway, my point was, I blanked out when he asked me to explain my answer—something he had not primed us for prior. I have no idea what I said. When the show airs Feb 24th, I’ll be just as surprised as anyone to see my response.

Back to The Price is Right. Drew was incredible—so sweet with the audience. Mike and I had to occasionally share long glances at each other, trying to ground us in the moment. Holyshitholyshitholyshit. 

Waiting in line, we met an exuberant black lady who was in it to WIN it, she never sat and rested, instead making her rounds and chatting with everyone. Once she got to Mike, she said,

“What do you want to win, a car?”

“Hell yeah!”

“Me, I don’t need a car. I just bought a new car. What I need is a new WASHER and DRYER”

Without a beat, Mikey said,”Alright, if you win a car, and I win a washer and dryer, then we’ll trade.”

They shook on it. Once we were in the audience, she pointed at him again saying “I want my washer and dryer!”

She got on the show, and she won a brand new car. You’ll see her if you watch April 8th. That is Mikey’s car. We’d have to drive her to Sears and pick her up a new washer and dryer, but we wouldn’t mind.

In the end, my left ear was ringing and my throat hurt from screaming, but it was a hellva good time. Next time we’ll have to wear matching t shirts, that always seems to get ’em.

Next up, San Diego!