By The Way ||RHCP fanfic|| Anthony Kiedis

Chapter One: Road Trippin'

January 1st, 2002

Well, I'm officially twenty years old today according to the calendar hanging up in my kitchen reading off a new year. Been on this planet for twenty whole years, but the ironic part about it is that I don't feel twenty years old today, because today feels exactly the same as yesterday felt when it was here, and the day before that day felt the same, same same same. It seems like only yesterday I was dreaming of the big two-oh, some more freedom, meeting a celebrity whom I'm supposedly related to on some small level. Oh wait...it was only yesterday...

Between boarding the plane and landing in hectic Los Angeles, only one thing and one thing alone has gotten me through this boring flight experience, and that one thing is extensive amounts of well-needed sleep. I rested the entire way down to L.A. in the plane since sleep amounts were quite minimal last night, considering the fact that I knew what was going to happen later today.

Scribbled on a napkin in sloppy handwriting is Anthony's official address taken straight from the letter he sent; supposedly the place he usually hangs out when he's not touring with the band or living his busy rockstar lifestyle, whatever that may consist of. I'm well aware that he probably has multiple residencies in different areas across the United States or even across the entire globe, so this isn't anything special. He's always moving around from place to place anyway for touring. Not like I'll be able to see him again after this one visit, him being a world renowned superstar, me being a normal citizen with a normal life and all.

The plane ride consists of two things: sleep and blaring loud music. My sound-cancelling headphones drown out the surrounding noises so that I can get some restful sleep on the flight over to L.A. It's not a very long way from Washington to California luckily; roughly a three hour flight if the weather cooperates in favor of the pilots. No stops in cities, no rests, no nothing. It's a direct flight.
It seems as though I'm only asleep for mere minutes when a loud female voice breaks through the serenity over the scratchy plane intercom.

"Hello passengers, this is Natalie speaking with you. We will be arriving in Los Angeles in roughly twenty minutes, so hang tight. Refreshments and snacks are working their way down the isle currently. We hope you've enjoyed your flight with SS Airlines."

And then, just as the boring voice had announced, twenty minutes later here I am, here we are, in Los Angeles...the city of angels. Buildings stack up against the sky in a constant competition for power. The sky just laughs at the man made structures that are trying to fight back, knowing that they will never reach the clouds above. It's a very sunny day in California when we all arrive, people walking around everywhere, streets crowded with vehicles of every kind imaginable, no space for oxygen to breathe. A colorful array of fast cars flood the busy streets in a huge blur that could only be found in a city such as this one. I quickly scramble out of the loaded LAX airport, three bags of luggage in hand, and locate a road that's swarming with cars.

Ah, there's the vehicle I'm in search of.

A yellow taxi cab pulls up beside me when it's hailed over to my location. I hop in quietly and read the address scribbled on the crumpled napkin off to the distracted taxi driver, who starts to take me to this famous mansion of a house, wherever it may be. The driver attempts to make small talk the entire way there, but I'm not in the mood for small talk. Never am. It's just an excuse to make yourself feel like you care about other unimportant people, because oh look, you're putting in effort. The only problem is that it's all a big lie. Nobody really wants to talk to anybody. We all just pretend that we do.

Traffic here is as expected: heavy and hardly mobile, but is this such a surprise coming from a town like this? Certainly not. Once we get a clearing where traffic ceases to exist it's all smiles for both the driver and myself.

...And we're off.

* * *

The cab pulls up to a large beach house and comes to a complete stop on the side of the road. Meanwhile here I sit in the back seat of this stinky car with this stupid cab driver in his stupid fucking hat, loathing my entire existence and wondering to myself if this trip was all just some huge mistake to begin with. What a fucking surprise. Of course he lives in a multi million dollar fucking beach house.

My left foot hits the hot pavement below.

Welcome. You have arrived at your final destination.