She shamefully recounted having sex with men in exchange for food and drugs. She rambled gravely about how her closest friends had stolen her clothes and her money. When we saw each other again a few months later in Miami, I was shocked by her mental deterioration. In the Deadheads, she thought she saw family. Like many of the hundreds on the tour, she was attracted to the scene around the Grateful Dead as much as the band itself. She was a bright, beautiful runaway from a loveless home in Pittsburgh. It was the end of the Dead's fall tour in 1989, I had just completed my first full tour and she had finished what would be her last. We met at a Grateful Dead show in North Carolina. I was on the street below and to this day remain thankful I was looking the other way. From a room full of Deadheads she considered to be her family, she climbed out onto the ledge and then took one more step forward. ![]() SHE JUMPED from a window of a seedy motel on Market Street in San Francisco.
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