Every time he speaks with an officer, he walks away with a new sticker bearing their station’s badge. The travelers’ bible that keeps them together is barely contained within the rubber band, similar to his head’s ability to contain his smile.
Cory is a true citizen of the world, happy to roam over beach, mountain, inner city and rail yard as if it is all a gift. It is as if the spirits immortalized when Kerouac penned his epoch “Dharma Bums” floated across time to occupy his drifter's frame.
“I sat by the pavilion with a giant sign that said, ‘Do you want to hop a train with me?’” he said. “That was when the coastline was running, and you could get from Oxnard to Oakland in eight hours. So we, me and my friend Kai, who’s also homeless out here, would grab as many kids as we could from Venice beach and bring them up to San Francisco. It was our version of cleaning the streets.”
The “sticker kid,” as the west coast cops know him, lives by a code. You’ve probably heard it.
“I am referring to the other person's conscience, not yours. For why is my freedom being judged by another's conscience?” from I Corinthians 10:29. Or as Cory likes to paraphrase, “It’s not up to man to judge. God will judge me.”
He puts the bible away, offers a handshake instead of a hug, because “no hugs, no bugs; you see a hippy kid, you shake his hand," takes hold of Conchita and works his way up the beach, northbound in a boxcar back to the Bay.
"I'm a Traveler, like Jesus was."