As a teenager, I attended Belmont High School in Los Angeles. The apartment
I lived in with my parents, a cousin my age, and an aunt was a considerable
distance from Beverly Boulevard where the nearest bus ran. The easiest thing
to do was to walk up to the corner of First Street and Vermont Avenue and
to hitchhike from there to school. Before long, my cousin and I had "assembled"
a group of drivers who passed the corner on their way to work each day and
would pick us up. There was a certain romance to hitchhiking, even in the
middle of a metropolis, and though we were never late for school, the question
of whether we would be always hung over our little adventure.
Herman J. To Whom Shall I Tell My Grief? JAMA. 1999;282(2):111–112. doi:10.1001/jama.282.2.111
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