I arrived to New York City from Peru in the 70s. I was 20, a pipsqueak. I didn’t have enough life experience, but I came curious to stay only for one year and then go back to my country to continue my studies in Politics. But those dreams changed.

I visited California before my visa expired. It was the time of the hippies, and I fell in love with a Jewish girl named Ruth. She asked me to marry her so I could stay in the U.S. I wasn’t convinced; I was just a kid. But I still got married to Ruth and went back to Peru to get my documents. On my return to the U.S, I went back to New York City instead of California. Two years later, I asked for a divorce. It was really painful, even now. She really fell in love with me, but I didn’t want to be married. I was only 22. It makes me sad. I don’t know. I should have never married.

I worked as a taxi driver in New York, and soon got a license to drive trucks. I also started a business which was successful, but I met some vicious people from the streets that drank a lot and took a lot of cocaine. It was like being in my own Battle of Waterloo. I decided to move back to California to keep away from the bad company.