When Paul rolled in on a Greyhound from Las Vegas in October, he was so broke that he couldn’t even afford bus fare to get to work, and he was crashing with five other four-flushers in a two-bedroom Clairemont apartment.

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Sweaty days in La Jolla boiler room

Dialin' and Cryin'

Cruise down Miramar. As you suck in diesel fumes and feel the ruts and gouges in the pavement cut by the incessant pounding of tractor-trailers, you’ll know the San Diego that the phone jockey knows.

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