Dave had given Mo crude directions to LA and sent him on his way. The first direction was to a place Dave had called “a highway.” Mo was familiar with the concept of a highly-trafficked area, but not like this.
It was loud.
And hot.
And gray.
Mo hid behind trees observing tiny vehicles and large vehicles moving up and down this highway. Dave had pointed him to a truck stop in order to obtain a human suit. After observing for some time, he was able to physically overcome a large fellow with his pants down. The skin wasn’t particularly comfortable, but it made life easier for Mo. He used Dave’s green paper to reserve a seat on a mode of transportation that would take him to LA.
On the ride, Mo got sick several times. He threw up in the bathroom, and after a while, decided he better just sit there the rest of the ride. At some point, the rocky ride stopped and Mo was dropped off in LA. He didn’t remember much of the ride, but was glad it was over. Why Dave hadn’t warned him, he would never know.
His first order of business was finding a more suitable human suit. This one sweat too much, and was far too heavy. He was able to acquire one in a similar fashion in the bus depot. This one had several odd markings on its skin, but it looked pretty to Mo, and he grew fond of it over time.
Mo spent the next several days walking around LA. It was hotter than the highway, and had more cars. He remembered his training and tried to find out how to get a place to live. One man had a peculiar brown setup on the sidewalk, so Mo stopped to ask him for advice.
“Hello, sir?” Mo asked.
The man stuck a cup in Mo’s face and groaned. Mo took the cup, but there was nothing in it, so he handed it back.
“How do I find a house?” Mo asked.
“Fuck you, buddy.”
Mo stepped back. He wasn’t familiar with this terminology.
“No, I’m looking for a house,” he repeated.
“Am I a joke to you?” The man stood.
Mo didn’t really know what was happening, so he laughed nervously. He had said joke, right?
“Who the fuck are you?”
Mo resisted the urge to activate his boosters and fly away like he had before. He had to remain calm in order to figure out his way back home. Rolling into a ball and launching into the sky was probably not what was needed. Instead, he churned his skinny legs and ran.
Over the next few days, Mo tried walking into random buildings asking for a place to live. Most of the humans laughed and asked him to leave. Only some were polite about it.
Human life was hard.
He found parks to sleep in, but other humans didn’t seem to like that. Eventually he found this place called “the beach” and was able to stay there for a while. The water reminded him of Dave’s place. They didn’t have nearly this amount of water back home, and the sound of waves comforted him.
He walked through the beach and different parks every day, until one afternoon he witnessed an exchange with a food vendor that gave him an idea. He promptly walked to a nearby, large, tiny-windowed building and approached the front desk.
“I need a place to live,” Mo said.
The man behind the counter began to laugh, but Mo reached into the pockets of his now ragged cargo shorts, grabbed a wad of green papers he still had from Dave, and dropped it in front of the balding man that surprisingly looked like Mo’s uncle back on his home planet. The bald man suddenly stopped laughing, looked around, and slowly raked the papers into his arms.
“I’ve got just a place for you,” he said, and stepped out from behind the desk and showed Mo to a tiny room on the first floor. It was more spacious than Mo’s living quarters back at home, and he decided he loved it in LA.