This is me in 1985, just after I returned from my first long solo trip to Central America. I had freed myself from "the world," and went on a spiritual trip wandering by myself from war zones in El Salvador, Nicaragua, and Guatemala to amazing Caribbean beaches in Yucatan, to the land that time forgot of hidden mountain villages in the heart of the Maya Highlands. I took buses from Managua all the way back to California, walking across the border with one small satchel at Mexicali.
After being searched numerous times, I made it across to the U.S. side. Almost as soon as I crossed the border---looking much like I do in this photo---a ragged homeless man with a shopping cart came up to me and said, "Man, you look like you could use some help." "I've been on the road a while," I told him. "Well," he said, "down the road there's a clinic that will buy your blood for $14 a pint" (or something like that). "You should check it out, man. I go there all the time."
I thanked him for the tip, but passed. Later I caught the last bus to San Bernardino.