The Future Holds No Guarantees

“But who’s going to take care of you when you’re old?”

The sun burned my chest despite the chilly air in Camden Town. Feeling like I was in a punk rock Disneyland with this newfound ability to down cheap beer out in the open, I excitedly discussed Hunter S. Thompson books and 4 Past Midnight with a handsome guy with spiky blonde hair whose name was Mike. I was thousands of miles from the humid barrio of The…